WHEELER, instead of being thunder-stricken, said quietly, “Oh, is he? Well?”
“Sir Charles is lighter than I am: Lady Bassett has a skin like satin, and red hair.”
“Red! say auburn gilt. I never saw such lovely hair.”
“Well,” said Richard, impatiently, “then the boy has eyes like sloes, and a brown skin, like an Italian, and black hair almost; it will be quite.”
“Well,” said Wheeler, “it is not so very uncommon for a dark child to be born of fair parents, or vice versa. I once saw an urchin that was like neither father nor mother, but the image of his father's grandfather, that died eighty years before he was born. They used to hold him up to the portrait.”
Said Bassett, “Will you admit that it is uncommon?”
“Not so uncommon as for a high-bred lady, living in the country, and adored by her husband, to trifle with her marriage vow, for that is what you are driving at.”
“Then we have to decide between two improbabilities: will you grant me that, Mr. Wheeler?”
“Yes.”
“Then suppose I can prove fact upon fact, and coincidence upon coincidence, all tending one way! Are you so prejudiced that nothing will convince you?”