There had to be considered, also, the fraudulency of continuing to inflict such a woman on society in the guise of a lady.
The word brought back a rush of pity to Joan's heart. Effie May had done her best to be a "lady," poor creature, even to the extent of vainly trying to remodel her speech and her manners on those of her new family....
Joan, very white and drawn about the lips, ordered her horse in the early morning and went for a long gallop, hoping to clear her brain. When she returned, with nothing decided, she found Archie Blair in the library waiting for her.
She had never before been so glad to see him. It came upon her, with a rush of relief, that here was somebody with whom she could discuss her problem, whose advice she could ask. Archie knew! He was not very clever, perhaps, never subtle nor quick in his mental processes; but there was something sure about him, something utterly honest and dependable.
Evidently he had given others the same impression.
"Mrs. Darcy sent for me to come out and talk things over," he said gravely. "She wanted me to speak to you. She thought maybe I could make you understand better."
"Sent for you? Why, but you've never been one of her friends. You've never even pretended to be!"
"No," he said simply. "She isn't my sort, and she don't belong here. She's too flossy. But since she's here, I'm sorry for her—Now that you know, what are you going to do about it, Miss Darcy?"
Joan laid her problem before him with a frankness she would not have believed possible. She told him about her father. Never before, not even to Stefan Nikolai, had she disclosed Richard Darcy quite as she had come to know him latterly. It was an analysis that would have looked too brutal set down in black and white.
Archie listened thoughtfully, and with no appearance of embarrassment or consciousness that the conversation was unusual. There was something in his masculinity that never suggested sex.