"There is something in that. Well, he lived among these Socialists for many a long year. He went to Russia and saw Tolstoi, knew Karl Marx, and threw himself headlong into schemes whereby the human race was to be saved by all manner of devices, having as their basis the equitable division of property. Then he married a young girl--a Swiss, the daughter of one of his socialistic friends--and returned to England. He was poor, so I helped him."
"Out of your poverty!--how noble!" sneered Van Zwieten, lighting a fresh cigar.
"Oh, I was richer then. I was married and my wife had money. Then she died a few years after Brenda was born, and I put the child to school as soon as she was of an age. She was brought up away from me," he went on sadly; "that is why I have such small influence over her."
"You will have influence enough to make her marry me, my friend."
"I doubt it--I doubt it. Well, my brother lived in a poor way, having but little money, besides which, his ideas were all against luxury. His wife was beautiful and frivolous and had no love for him. She coveted money and position, neither of which he could give her, and would not if he could. That was ten years ago."
"Ah! and what happened then?"
"My brother's wife met Malet. He was handsome, rich, and a scoundrel, and he ran away with her."
Van Zwieten appeared astonished. "He wasn't then married to Lady Jenny?"
"No, he married Lady Jenny later. But he ran off with my brother's wife to Italy. And the shock of his wife's treachery gave poor Robert brain fever."
"He loved her then?"