“My dear, I don’t advise you to put a stop to it unless you want to see the Abbey put up at public auction.”
“Mary Gifford!”
“Now don’t shriek out; but I have more than one reason to think that I’m right.”
“And perhaps we’re eating his bread?”
“I don’t know that it’s as bad as that, but I am positive that she borrowed from him first and mortgaged her properties heavily—he was over in America last year. Now, he is certainly in love with her. He would marry me, of course, because I could give him what Emmy cannot—but—however! Better not say anything, my child. Lord Barnstaple has always been too indifferent to give two thoughts to his wife’s private affections; but if he were made to know anything, of course he’d have to kick the man out. And he and Cecil would have to break the entail, and the Abbey would go to the highest bidder—who would probably be one of the Pixes. Victoria the Silent has never stopped wanting it from the day she first saw it; nor Cecil Maundrell either, for that matter.”
“Well, she won’t get it. What a ghastly business! I wish you hadn’t told me.”
“I wish I hadn’t, but it never occurred to me that you couldn’t see the length of your nose.”
“Something has to be done; it’s a horrible position for Lord Barnstaple and Cecil.”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them—it is though. What’s the use of platitudinising? Everybody else knows—or guesses, and it is rough on them. But let things drift along for a little. Who knows what may happen?”
“If you don’t mind, and if you will make an excuse for me, I’ll go up to my room. I’m tired out, and I’d like to be alone.”