“By no means,” rejoined Donal: “on presumption, after lord Forgue, you told me;—after lord Morven, I tell you.”
“I am at a loss to imagine on what you found such a statement,” said Graeme, beginning to suspect insanity.
“Naturally; no one knows it but myself. Lord Morven knows that his son cannot succeed, but he does not know that you can. I am prepared, if not to prove, at least to convince you that he and his son’s mother were not married.”
Mr. Graeme was for a moment silent. Then he laughed a little laugh—not a pleasant one. “Another of Time’s clownish tricks!” he said to himself: “the earl the factor on the family-estate!” Donal did not like the way he took it, but saw how natural it was.
“I hope you have known me long enough,” he said, “to believe I have contrived nothing?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Grant: the whole business looks suspicious. The girl was dying! You knew it!”
“I do not understand you.”
“What did you marry her for?”
“To make her my wife.”
“Pray what could be the good of that except—?”