His lordship ignored this small protest. “I do not know what you will think of me, Deb. There can be no words bad enough to describe my conduct!”
“No, no! Mine!” gasped Miss Laxton.
“Phoebe is blameless,” said his lordship manfully. “You will realize that, I know, however hardly you may think of me! She would have had you remain in ignorance of the whole! But I cannot! I am determined to tell you the truth, for I am persuaded that nothing but misery could come of keeping it from you!”
Miss Grantham’s sense of humour got the better of her at this point, and, tottering towards a chair, she sank into it, exclaiming in tragic accents: “Oh heavens! I am betrayed!”
His lordship blenched; both he and Miss Laxton regarded her with guilty dismay.
Miss Grantham buried her face in her handkerchief, and uttered one shattering word: “Wretch!”
His lordship swallowed, and squared his shoulders. “I am aware in what an odious light my conduct must appear to you, and I cannot attempt to excuse it,” he said. “Only, I did not mean to do it: it was something I could not help, Deb, indeed, it was! And I thought you had rather I told you than—than—”
Miss Grantham gave a shriek. “You have trifled with me!” she said, into the folds of her handkerchief. “You promised me marriage, and now you mean to cast me off for Another!”
Lord Mablethorpe and Miss Laxton exchanged stricken glances.
“I never thought I should live to be slighted!” pursued Miss Grantham. “Oh, was ever any defenceless female so deceived?”