Then the conversation lagged for a little while. At length Edith, full of the idea that Wiggins had sent them for some purpose, and desirous of finding out whether her suspicions were correct or not, said, in a careless tone,
“I suppose you know this Wiggins very well?”
“Mr. Wiggins?” said Mrs. Mowbray, quickly. “Oh yes; my son and he often meet, though for my part I know little or nothing about the man.”
“Pooh!” cried Mowbray, interrupting her. “Miss Dalton, Mrs. Mowbray is so talkative that she often says things that she does not mean, or, at least, things that are liable to mislead others. I have met Wiggins, it is true, but do not imagine that he is a friend of mine. On the contrary, he has reason to hate me quite as much as he hates you. Your idea of any connection between him and me, which I plainly see you hint at, is altogether wrong, and you would not have even suspected this if you knew me better.”
“You came here so easily,” said Edith, “that I very naturally supposed that you were on friendly terms.”
“I come here easily,” said Mowbray, “not because he is my friend, but because he is so afraid of me that he does not dare to keep me back.”
“You understand, then,” said Edith, “that he keeps others back. If you have such power over him, how is it that you can calmly stand by and see him imprison a free-born and a high-born English lady?”
“Oh,” muttered Mowbray, “I don't know any thing about that. He is your guardian, and you are his ward, and the law is a curious thing that I do not understand.”
“Yet Mrs. Mowbray says that you are distinguished for your knowledge of legal points,” said Edith.
Mowbray made no reply, and in a few moments Mrs. Mowbray rose to go.