"The idea?"
"Of marrying her, of course, and so redeeming himself. She is not what I would have chosen for him, I admit that; but all things must give way before the ruin that threatens us."
"Yes; true—all things," says Mrs. Bethune in a low tone.
"You see that. But how to bring Maurice to the point? He is so very difficult. You, Marian—you have influence with him——"
"I?"
Mrs. Bethune rises in the slow, beautiful fashion that is hers always; she moves towards the window. There is no hurry, no undue haste, to betray the disquietude of her soul.
"You—you, of course," says Lady Rylton peevishly. "I always rely upon you."
"I have no influence!"
"You mean, of course, that you will not use it," says Lady Rylton angrily. "You still think that you will marry him yourself, that perhaps his uncle will die and leave him once more a rich man—the master of The Place, as the old Place's master should be; but that is a distant prospect, Marian."
Mrs. Bethune has swung around, her beautiful figure is drawn up to its most stately height.