"Really you embarrass me very much," said Mr. Tracy pathetically. "If Mr. Ashley alone had alleged it I should have said he was mistaken, but if the lady corroborated it there must be something in it, although it is news to me."
"There was so much in it," said Sir Ross, with fine sarcasm, "that I required the lady to choose between us, and as she declined to give Mr. Ashley his congé I retired from the apparent rivalry with a person whom I detest, and my engagement to Mrs. Sinclair is cancelled."
"Not many women are so unmercenary," Mr. Tracy replied, "and not many men get such proof of having been loved for themselves alone and not for their wealth and position."
He meant the remark to be in the nature of an emollient, but it failed to have that effect.
"I am not sufficiently sentimental to appreciate the value of being loved for myself alone," Sir Ross responded drily, "if the upshot is that I am to be jilted for somebody else. The essential thing is that I, although one of Mr. Sinclair's intimate friends, have never heard of any relationship between his family and Mr. Ashley's; neither have you, although you are the solicitor to Mr. Ashley's family. It merely corroborates my previous impression that the alleged relationship is all my eye."
He blew out his cheeks, which were purple with just indignation at the recollection of the affront offered to his intelligence, and glared fiercely at Mr. Tracy, who represented his hated rival's house; but Mr. Tracy remained as gentle and unmoved as ever.
"I am unable to explain, Sir Ross. I have never met the lady, nor indeed heard of her except as your future wife. What is she like?"
Sir Ross looked round the room; the photographs of Lavender, which once were numerous, had been removed immediately after the rupture of the engagement, and he had to open a bureau in a corner to find some. There, however, he found plenty, framed and unframed.
"There she is," he said, and heaved a sigh as he saw the counterfeit presentment of her superb womanhood.
But Mr. Tracy's forehead was all wrinkled and his eyebrows were drawn together as he stared at the photographs and tried to fix in his memory where he had met this woman, and under what cognomen; it must be long ago, and yet the face was familiar to him. At last his mind responded to the effort, and putting his hand into his inner pocket he withdrew a letter-case, and opening it produced the photograph of the unknown lady which Gwendolen had given to him at Fairbridge. He laid it on the table by the others, and motioned to Sir Ross to examine it.