Mrs. Roberts said nothing. It was this trait that rendered her so admirable as a hostess and a friend.
"Of course," continued her Ladyship, "I had long known that there was some sentiment between my dear Isabelle and Lieutenant Kingsland, and if I had supposed there was anything serious, they would at once have had my blessing, and—er—a wedding in St. George's, and—everything that religion requires. Their secret marriage was childish and ridiculous—because it was not opposed."
Mrs. Roberts still held her peace.
"I say," continued the Dowager, "that it was not opposed; of course Mr. Stanley——"
"Ah," said her hostess, seeing that she was expected to intervene: "Mr. Stanley—what of him?"
"Well, you see, my dear Mrs. Roberts, he's a most excellent young man; but he comes from a Catholic country—and—er—the influence is so insidious, that, on consideration, I didn't really feel—that my duty as a mother would permit me to countenance the match further."
Mrs. Roberts said nothing, she had been ill-used in this particular, she felt, and withheld her sympathy accordingly.
The Dowager appreciated the position, and acted promptly.
"Your dear niece, Miss Fitzgerald, such a charming girl," she continued, "doubtless feels as I do. Her throwing Stanley over unreservedly was most commendable, and reflected much credit on your influence, dear Mrs. Roberts."
Her hostess was mollified, and showed it. The Dowager's position promised to turn defeat into triumph.