‘I know you mean no harm,’ repeated Theodora; ‘but it cannot be right to allow any occasion for observations.’
‘Now, Theodora, hear me. I dare say Jane has been telling you some of her plausible stories, which do more harm than good, because no one knows which part to believe. There was some nonsense between Mark and me when we were young and happy—I confess that. Perhaps I thought he meant more than he did, and dwelt upon it as silly girls do, especially when they have nothing else to care for. Then came the discovery of all his debts and scrapes, poor fellow, and—I won’t deny it—it half killed me, more especially when I found he had been attached to some low girl, and avowed that he had never seriously thought of me—he believed I understood it as all sport. I was very ill. I wish I had died. There was no more to be done but to hate him. My uncle and aunt Edward were horridly savage, chiefly because I hindered them from going to Italy; and Mrs. George Gardner thought I had been deluding Mark! Then Lady Fotheringham asked us, and—it was dull enough to be sure, and poor Pelham was always in the way—but they were kind comfortable folks. Lady Fotheringham is a dear old dame, and I was in dull spirits just then, and rather liked to poke about with her, and get her to tell me about your brother and his Helen—’
‘Why, Jane said you were dying of low spirits!’
‘Well, so I was. I hated it excessively sometimes. Jane is not entirely false in that. The evenings were horrid, and Sundays beyond everything unbearable. I confess I was delighted to get away to Bath; but there—if Jane would but have helped me—I would, indeed I would, have been thankful to have gone back to Worthbourne, even if I had had to play at draughts with Pelham for the rest of my days. But Jane was resolved, and all my strength and spirit had been crushed out of me. She would not even let me write to you nor to Lady Fotheringham till it was too late.’
‘Well, that is all past,’ said Theodora, whose face had shown more sympathy than she thought it right to express in words. ‘The point is, what is right now?’
And you see it is folly to say there is any harm or danger in my seeing Mark: he never had any attachment to me seven years ago, nor any other time, and whatever I felt for him had a thorough cure. I am not ashamed to say I am glad he should be here to give him a chance of marrying a fortune. That is the whole story. Are you satisfied?’
‘Satisfied on what I never doubted, your own intentions, but no further. You ought to abstain from all appearance of evil.’
‘I am not going to give my cousin up to please Lady Albury—no, nor all the Fotheringhams put together! You used to say you did not care for gossip.’
‘No more I do, but I care for a proper appearance.’
‘Very well—hush—here he comes!