‘I am not likely to get in a rage with you,’ said Lady Bligh, dryly, ‘though I have no idea what is coming; so you had better begin, perhaps.’
‘Very well; then what I want to know is this—and I do want to know it very badly indeed. When you married, Lady Bligh, were you beneath Sir James?’
Lady Bligh sat bolt upright in her chair, and stared severely at her daughter-in-law. Gladys was sitting on the low stool with her hands clasped about her knees, and leaning backward with half her weight thus thrown upon her long straight arms. And she was gazing, not at the fire nor at Lady Bligh, but straight ahead at the wall in front of her. Her fine profile was stamped out sharply against the fire, yet touched at the edge with the glowing light, which produced a kind of Rembrandt effect. There was no movement of the long eyelashes projecting from the profile; the well-cut lips were firm. So far as could be seen from this silhouette, the Bride was in earnest. Lady Bligh checked the exclamation that had risen to her lips, and answered slowly:—
‘I do not understand you, Gladys.’
‘No?’ Gladys slowly turned her face to that of her companion; her eyes now seemed like still black pools in a place of shadows; and round her head the red firelight struggled through the loopholes and outworks of her hair. ‘Well, I mean—was it considered a very great match for you?’
‘No; it certainly was not.’
‘Then he was not much above you—in riches or rank or anything else?’
‘No; we were both very poor; our early days were a struggle.’
‘But you were equals from the very beginning—not only in money?’
‘Yes; socially we were equals too.’