‘Well, of course I am not responsible for the manuscripts; but do you suppose that Dennis was thinking of them, for which he does not care one farthing, even if he was talking of them? He was thinking of me. When he depreciates them to you he depreciates me; when he quotes the opinion of Mr. Wallis or of any one else he is quoting it against me. You need not blush, Margaret, as if my mind had just awakened to a suspicion of the truth. Do you suppose I don’t know what Mr. Frank Dennis has been after, all along?’
‘I will not pretend to be ignorant of what you mean, Willie,’ said Margaret firmly, ‘but you are quite mistaken if you imagine that Frank Dennis has ever breathed a word to me, or, as I believe, to any one, to your disadvantage: he has a loyal heart and is a true friend.’
‘A friend, indeed!’ said William Henry scornfully.
‘Yes, indeed and in need. I will lay my life on it, Willie. A man who detests all falsehood and deceit, and even if he entertained an unworthy thought of a rival would hold his peace about him.’
‘That is why, no doubt, he did not speak of me,’ put in the young man bitterly. ‘Detraction can be conveyed by silence as well as by a forked tongue.’
‘You are both unjust and unkind, Willie.’
‘Still the fact remains that, whenever you see this gentleman, I do not rise—I will not say by comparison, because I believe you love me—but I do not rise in your opinion. You cannot deny it; your face confesses it. Under these circumstances you can hardly think me unreasonable if I ask you for the present not to meet Mr. Frank Dennis, even “by accident in the street.”’
‘I will not speak to him, Willie, if you object to it,’ said Margaret in a low voice. She was the more distressed at what he had said because she had a secret consciousness that it was not undeserved. He did not indeed sink in her opinion after her talks with Frank, and certainly did not suffer by contrast; but, on the other hand, he did not rise, while her confidence in the genuineness of the Shakespearean documents did sink.
Thence arose misgivings as to the future, doubts whether Willie would be permitted to win her, and a certain unsteadiness, not indeed of purpose but of outlook.
‘Of course you must speak to him if you meet him, Maggie,’ continued William Henry in a tone from which all irritation had disappeared; ‘only for the present do not seek his society. You will not long have to deny yourself the pleasure, since in a few weeks—that is, I intend very shortly to ask Mr. Erin to give you to me for my very own.’