“Ach! I am glad to hear it. It does seem to me that there is too much Dick about Edith, even when she is getting married; yes, and everywhere.”
“I really think that Tabitha is right; there is too much Dick,” reflected her husband, but aloud he said nothing, only sipped his champagne and watched the play.
Nor, although he looked daggers, did Dick say anything, for he was afraid of Lady Devene, and respected the acumen which was hid beneath her stout and placid exterior. Then with his usual chivalry, Rupert, ignoring the Dick side of the business, came to the rescue and explained that he, and he alone, was responsible for Edith’s stopping in England, giving the reasons with which we are acquainted.
Lady Devene listened patiently as she always did to Rupert while he blundered through his story.
When it was finished, Edith, who had found time to collect herself, said in a somewhat offended voice:
“You see now you were unjust to me, Tabitha. I—I wished to go.”
Next moment she wished something else, namely, that she had remained silent, for Lady Devene answered with calm conviction:
“Indeed—is it so? Then I am sorry you have not more influence with him. It would have been better that you should go. Why did you tell him that you were afraid of the hot sun and of the cholera sickness? He would not have thought of it himself, who is afraid of nothing. Come, the subject is unpleasant; let us go upstairs and talk of the wedding presents.”
So they went and not too soon, for what between doubt, anger, and a guilty conscience, Edith was on the verge of tears.
That night after Rupert had departed Edith and Lord Devene spoke together in the library.