"Oh, don't say that," entreats Desmond, who has a wholesome affection for the old gentleman above at Coole. "He is the kindest old fellow in the world. I think, if you knew him, you would be very fond of him; and I know he would adore you. In fact, he is so kind-hearted that I cannot think [how] all that unfortunate story about your mother ever came about. He looks to me as if he couldn't say 'Bo to a goose' where a woman was concerned and yet his manner to-night confirmed everything I heard."
"He confessed?" in a deeply interested tone.
"Well just the same thing. He seemed distressed about his own conduct in the affair, too. But his manner was odd, I thought: and he seems as much at daggers drawn with your aunts as they with him."
"That is because he is ashamed of himself. One is always hardest on those one has injured."
"But that is just it," says Mr. Desmond, in a puzzled tone. "I don't believe, honestly, he is a bit ashamed of himself. He said a good deal about his regret, but I could see he quite gloried in his crime. And, in fact, I couldn't discover the smallest trace of remorse about him."
"He must really be a very bad old man," says Monica, severely. "I am perfectly certain if he were my uncle I should not love him at all."
"Don't say that. When he is your uncle you will see that I am right, and that he is a very lovable old man, in spite of all his faults."
At this Monica blushes a little, and twirls [her rings] round her slender fingers in an excess of shyness, and finally, in spite of a stern pressure laid upon herself, gives way to mirth.
"What are you laughing at now?" asks he laughing too.
"At you," casting a swift but charming glance at him from under her long lashes. "You do say such funny things!"