"Very well," she said resignedly. "You are a strong man, and I am a weak woman. I daresay you imagine yourself to be paying me a compliment. But I should put that dream aside if I were you, for it is never likely to come true."
"It is no dream," Ralph smiled. "Nor is the happiness so very far off. Now let me take you back to the house again, for it is getting late."
As Mary slipped her hand under the proffered arm, a gentle sigh escaped her. She wondered why she could not be angry with this man, why every word of his thrilled her and filled her with such happiness as could not be expressed in words.
[CHAPTER XXIX.]
STRATEGY
Meanwhile the police were pushing on their investigations into the causes leading up to the fire at Dashwood Hall with great energy. The clue of the matchbox was held to be an important one, and now that the owner of the toy had been discovered, important developments were expected. In the interim, Vincent Dashwood returned from London, having forgotten all about his loss. It was brought back to his mind with unpleasant force after luncheon the following day by a visit from the inspector of police.
Dashwood was lounging at the table, smoking a cigarette. Lady Dashwood sat opposite to him, her slim hands folded in her lap. She was looking white and worn; her eyes seemed to seek her companion in weary misery.
"I don't see what you have to complain of," Dashwood was saying. "I've done everything to please you. Here I am, a kind of mystery in the house, living more or less on your bounty, whilst all the time I might have been Sir Vincent Dashwood, with a fine property behind me. And any time I want a few pounds you grumble."
"That is not a true statement of the case," Lady Dashwood said in her resigned way. "You told me you could do nothing till you received the certificate of your father's marriage. As to the rest, I accepted you implicitly as my grandson. After the proofs that you placed in my hands, I had no alternative."
"Much as you would have liked one," Dashwood sneered.