“I should think so.”
“Well, your confession that a woman can become disgusted with even a worthless man gives me hope.”
“I did not speak for every woman, remember,” said Deborah warningly.
Her caution was justified. At Paddington, waiting for the train from Carstow, stood poor Lady Marion, leaner, more hatchet-faced than ever, in a long cloak and a shabby black hat, looking old enough for her own mother. Deborah saw her first, and jumping quickly out of the carriage, went up to her. The poor thing looked at the handsome girl before her with angry eyes, and would have turned her back and walked on. Deborah was not to be daunted.
“We have come to try and save Rees,” she whispered, following her.
Lady Marion turned quickly.
“To save him! Ah, yes, you,” she added immediately, in a bitterly envious tone. “He loves you.”
“Well, if you care for him, surely the great thing is that he should be saved,” urged the other persuasively.
Lady Marion had stopped reluctantly, and she now looked everywhere but at Deborah’s beautiful face.
“But papa, what does he say?”