“That Lady Bellair is not respected in any circle where her history is known; and that her nephew is a scoundrel.”
“It but adds to the wrong you heap on me, that you compel me to hear such wicked abuse of my father’s friends,” said Florimel, struggling with tears of anger. But for regard to her dignity she would have broken out in fierce and voluble rage.
“If your father knew Lord Liftore as I do, he would be the last man my lord marquis would see in your company.”
“Because he gave you a beating, you have no right to slander him,” said Florimel spitefully.
Malcolm laughed. He must either laugh or be angry.
“May I ask how your ladyship came to hear of that?”
“He told me himself,” she answered.
“Then, my lady, he is a liar, as well as worse. It was I who gave him the drubbing he deserved for his insolence to my—mistress. I am sorry to mention the disagreeable fact, but it is absolutely necessary you should know what sort of man he is.”
“And, if there be a lie, which of the two is more likely to tell it?”
“That question is for you, my lady, to answer.”