‘Nothing to fear, my lord.’
‘I get a trifle uneasy.’
‘The countess will not leave her brother.’
A glow of his countess’s friendliness for this open-faced, prompt-speaking, good fellow of the faintly inky eyelids, and possibly sheepish inclinations, melted Fleetwood. Our downright repentance of misconduct toward a woman binds us at least to the tolerant recognition of what poor scraps of consolement she may have picked up between then and now—when we can stretch fist in flame to defy it on the oath of her being a woman of honour.
The earl alighted and said: ‘Her brother, I suspect, is the key of the position.’
‘He’s worth it—she loves her brother,’ said Mr. Wythan, betraying a feature of his quick race, with whom the reflection upon a statement is its lightning in advance.
Gratified by the instant apprehension of his meaning, Fleetwood interpreted the Welshman’s. ‘I have to see the brother worthy of her love. Can you tell me the hour likely to be convenient?’.....
Mr. Wythan thought an appointment unnecessary which conveyed the sufficient assurance of audience granted.
‘You know her brother well, Mr. Wythan?’
‘Know him as if I had known him for years. They both come to the mind as faith comes—no saying how; one swears by them.’