“Colonel Keith must judge for himself,” she said, with a cold manner, but a burning heart.
“I—I understand,” said Lord Keith, “that you had most honourably, most consistently, made him aware that—that what once might have been desirable has unhappily become impossible.”
“Well,” said Ermine.
“And thus,” he proceeded, “that the sincere friendship with which you still regard him would prevent any encouragement to continue an attachment, unhappily now hopeless and obstructive to his prospects.”
Ermine’s eyes flashed at the dictation. “Lord Keith,” she said, “I have never sought your brother’s visits nor striven to prolong them; but if he finds pleasure in them after a life of disappointment and trouble, I cannot refuse nor discourage them.”
“I am aware,” said Lord Keith, rising as if to go, “that I have trespassed long on your time, and made a suggestion only warranted by the generosity with which you have hitherto acted.”
“One may be generous of one’s own, not of other people’s,” said Ermine.
He looked at her puzzled, then said, “Perhaps it will be best to speak categorically, Miss Williams. Let it be distinctly understood that my brother Colin, in paying his addresses to you, is necessarily without my sanction or future assistance.”
“It might not be necessary, my lord. Good morning;” and her courteous bow was an absolute dismissal.
But when Alison came home she found her more depressed than she had allowed herself to be for years, and on asking what was the matter was answered—