"And it rose from Bernard being true to me," said Alice, tenderly.
"As if you weren't worth the world," said Bernard, assisting her to put on her cloak.
"Eh, what's that?" said the old lady. "Hum! Bernard, your grandfather was a silly fool—no, I won't say that—but he was an upsetting peacock. The idea of not thinking Alice good enough for you!"
"She is too good for me."
"I quite agree with you," said the lawyer, laughing; "but you see, Miss Berengaria, it was not the personality of Miss Malleson that Sir Simon objected to, but her——"
"I know—I know," said the old lady tartly. "Bless the man, does he take me for an idiot." She sat down. "I'm a fool."
Everyone looked at one another when Miss Berengaria made this startling announcement. As a rule, she called others fools, but she was chary of applying the term to herself. She looked round. "I am a fool," she announced again. "Alice, come and sit down. I have something to say that should have been said long ago."
"What is it?" asked the girl, seating herself beside the old lady. Miss Berengaria, a rare thing for her, began to weep. "The air here is too strong for me," she said in excuse. "All the same, I must speak out even through my tears, silly woman that I am! Oh, if I hadn't been too proud to explain to that dead peacock"—she meant the late baronet—"all this would have been avoided."
"Do you mean my grandfather would have consented to the marriage?"
"I mean nothing of the sort, Bernard, so don't interrupt," said Miss Berengaria, sharply, "but I'm a fool. Bernard, I beg your pardon."