He shook his head somberly. “All life is a madness, if you will a divine madness. It is a madness that damns the consequences. By taking too much thought for the morrow we entomb ourselves. When Rachel died life meant for me the woman of my choice. And, Charlotte, let me say this”—he raised himself in his chair and looked at his sister fixedly—“she is the best woman I have ever known.”
For a moment she sat a picture of bewilderment, and then in a voice torn with emotion she said, “Out of regard for the others things had better go on as they are. But perhaps you will tell me, are there any children of this marriage?”
“There is one child.”
Charlotte caught her breath sharply.
“A girl. And in accordance with our compact she has been brought up in complete ignorance of her paternity. It seemed wise that she should know nothing. Her mother had her reared among her own people, because it was her mother’s express wish that the children of the first marriage should suffer no prejudice; and at the present time neither the girl herself nor the world at large is any the wiser.”
Charlotte began to breathe a little more freely. “At all events,” she said, “that fact seems to confirm one’s opinion that things had better go on as they are.”
But her brother continued to gaze at her with somber eyes. “Charlotte,” he said very slowly, “you have forced me to tell a story I had hoped would never be told in my lifetime. I have had to suffer your suspicions, but now that you are in the secret, you must share its responsibilities.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Lady Wargrave bluntly.
“I will explain. A horrible injustice has been done this girl, the child of the second marriage. So much is clear to you, no doubt?”
Lady Wargrave’s only reply was to tighten her lips.