‘Your nephew?’
‘Has Mr. Wyndham not spoken to you of his people, then? Rather better taste than I should have expected from him. But one may judge from it that he is not yet lost to all sense of decency.’
The insolence in her tone stings.
‘You must believe me or not, as you like,’ says the girl, drawing up her slight figure, ‘but I don’t know what you are speaking about. Do you mean that you think it wrong of me to have rented this cottage from Mr. Wyndham?’
Mrs. Prior raises her pince-nez and looks at her.
‘Really, you are very amusing!’ says she. ‘Now what do you think it is? Right? Your views should be interesting.’
‘If not this house, I should take another,’ says Ella. She is feeling bewildered and frightened, and has grown very pale.
‘Of course, if you insist on the innocent rôle,’ says Mrs. Prior coldly, shrugging her shoulders, ‘it is useless my wasting my time. If, however, you have any regard for Mr. Wyndham, who, it seems, has been very kind to you’—she glances meaningly round the charming little home and garden—‘if distinctly unkind to himself, it may be of use to let you know that your presence here is very likely to be the cause of his ruin.’
‘His—ruin!’ The unmistakable horror in the girl’s face strikes Mrs. Prior as hopeful, so she proceeds briskly.
‘Social ruin! It will undoubtedly mean his disinheritance by his uncle, Lord Shangarry, and—the rupture of his engagement with the girl he—loves!’