"Circumstanced as we were by the eccentricity of his late uncle, it was, perhaps, unwise," she replied, gently.
"I am glad that you admit so much: a little villa near St. John's Wood, or some such place, had been more appropriate for persons so situated."
The eyes of Constance began to flash dangerously.
"My son is Lord Lamorna!" she exclaimed; "and even on his cold-blooded uncle may punish this cruel insult to his mother!"
The General, to whom all this revelation was new and startling, began to feel uncomfortable, and to look quite perplexed; but Downie only smiled a crafty smile, as he said—
"Pooh, my good woman, you are out of your senses; what can be the object of this visit? I am busy—does your carriage wait?"
"Before scandals go forth in our name, I beseech you to consider well, and to read this letter, which will show you who I am and what I am, and why for years we have all borne the name of Devereaux," said Constance, making a prodigious effort to control her great grief and just indignation, as she held the document before Downie; "it is the last my dear, dear husband wrote me."
"Husband—absurd! This is the wildest of wild assertions," said Downie Trevelyan, as he took the letter from her hand, nevertheless; and as he did so, the words of her dead husband came back to her memory, when he said "that proofs of their marriage, beyond mere assertion, must be forthcoming;" and now those proofs were buried in the sea.
"You must recognise the handwriting," said Constance, in a tremulous tone; "and oh, sir," she added, as she eyed him doubtfully and wistfully, "you will restore it to me, and not destroy it?"
"Destroy!" said he, sternly; "what are you talking about? I hope I am too much of a lawyer to destroy any document."