"Perhaps you did not give her much opportunity to speak of herself; but when I saw her in October, she certainly did not love any man. Whether you taught her to love you afterwards, you are of course the best judge. I do not think she was bound to tell you before she knew that you loved her; and, judging from your own account of what took place, you do not seem to have made it very easy for a self-respecting woman to tell you afterwards."
Little by little the truth of this came home to Ralph, as he sat with his eyes fixed on the glowing embers of the fire.
Mr Reynolds gave his words time to take full effect and then went on.
"When I think how you have made that sensitive girl suffer, Dr Dudley, I am tempted to forget that I owe my knowledge of the circumstances entirely to your courtesy."
Ralph looked up with a rather wintry smile.
"Don't spare me," he said. "Hit hard!" And then there was another long silence.
"The one thing I cannot explain," said Mr Reynolds, "is her telling you that her name was Margaret."
"Oh, that's simple enough. It was in early days. I was talking of the name in the abstract, and she said it was hers; I daresay she never thought of the incident again; and then I saw it in her prayer-book—her mother's, no doubt. Mr Reynolds, I have been a blind fool; but I do think still that she ought to have told me."
"Since the old man has your permission to hit hard, you will allow me to say, that I think you do not realise how far injured pride has a share in your righteous indignation; but I have no wish to convince you. I would fain see my 'elder daughter' the wife of a nobler man."
Ralph smiled in spite of himself.