“Which was that?”
“That she should not come abroad; as I said to Sir Within: ‘We must negotiate on this basis; here is Miss Courtenay’s letter, these are her words;’ and I showed him the turn-down, only the turndown, of your note.”
Had there been light enough to remark it, Mr. M’Kinlay would have seen that Miss Courtenay’s face became deadly pale, and her lips trembled with repressed anger.
“Well, and then?” said she, with a faint voice.
“He cut the Gordian knot at once, my dear Miss Courtenay,” continued he, in a sort of sprightly tone; “he said, ‘There need be no difficulty in the matter. I can act here ex-officio;’ he meant by that he was her guardian. ‘I will write to her,’ said he, ‘and if she prefers to remain here——‘”
“Remain where?” gasped she out, with a great effort to seem calm and composed.
“At Dalradern Castle, at his own house; if she likes this better than a Paris pension, or an Irish cabin, it is quite at her service.”
“But, of course, you replied the thing was impossible; such an arrangement couldn’t be. It would be indelicate, improper, indecent?”
“I didn’t say all that; but I hinted that as Sir Within was a bachelor, there were difficulties——”
“Difficulties, Sir! What do you mean by difficulties? Is it possible that one evening’s companionship with a person hardened by a long life of ‘libertinage’ can have so warped your moral sense as to render you blind to so obvious a shame as this?”