“O Myra, my darling!” he cried apologetically; “I am so sorry;” and he turned to Edie, who looked daggers.
“It is nothing, papa,” said Myra coldly, as she tried hard to master her emotion.
“But it is something, my dear. I wouldn’t have said a word only I caught sight of Percy Guest’s name as junior for the defence.”
It was Edie’s turn now to look startled, and Sir Mark hurriedly fixed upon her to become the scapegoat for his awkward allusion, and divert Myra’s attention.
“Can’t congratulate the prisoner upon his counsel,” he said. “The man’s too young and inexperienced. Only the other day a mere student. It’s like putting a midshipman as second in command of an ironclad.”
Edie’s eyes now seemed to dart flames, and she looked up boldly at her uncle.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “I mean it. Very nice fellow, Percy Guest, in a social way, but I should be sorry to trust an important case with him. Here, I’ll read it, and see what it’s all about. No; never mind, I know you girls don’t care about law.”
The morning meal had been commenced cheerfully. There was sunshine without and at the table, Edie had thought how bright and well her cousin looked, and augured pleasant times of the future.
“If she could only feel herself free,” was her constant thought when Myra gave way to some fit of despondency.
“I’m sure that she loves Malcolm Stratton, and what is the good of a stupid old law if all it does is to make people uncomfortable. I wish I knew the Archbishop of Canterbury or the judge of the Court of Divorce, or whoever it is settles those things. I’d soon make them see matters in a different light. Poor Myra would be obedient then, and there’d be an end of all this moping. I believe she delights in making herself miserable.”