“Suspicion of what, lady?”
“Of his want of faith.”
Ada shook her head. “No,” she said, “there is no want of faith in Albert Seyton. Where I can give my heart and my faith, I never suspect. You do not know him, dear Lady Hartleton.”
“But he is with your enemies.”
“Still he is true.”
“He may have sold himself to them, and be even now plotting destruction.”
“Albert Seyton loves me,” said Ada.
“But you are open to conviction.”
“No, no—there are some things that the heart will cherish, despite all reasoning. You suspect Albert Seyton, my dear Lady Hartleton; but, let appearances be what they may, he can and will explain them all. He may be, from his own honest, unsuspecting nature, the dupe of villains, but he is not one himself.”
“Then you preserve your good opinion of him, Ada, despite all unfavourable appearances?”