“I think she.... But that is not what I want to say. Philip, do you mean to take this money?”
“If no one contests my right to it, I certainly shall,” said Philip, with his chin in his hand.
Marion’s heart beat hard. She had anticipated reluctance on her husband’s part, but not opposition so determined as this. She hesitated what to do next. That Perdita did not really doubt Grantley to have been her father, Marion was of course convinced. The recollection of what had passed on that tragic morning, when the Marquise had called her in to witness Bendibow’s exposure, and Marion herself had interposed, and with difficulty saved him, was only too distinct in her memory. Perdita had believed then, and there was no reason why she should doubt now. But on the other hand, Marion herself was responsible for Perdita’s present attitude. Marion had asked her not to open the packet, and Perdita—certainly from a generous motive—had complied. In the exaltation of that moment, the two women had kissed each other. Which had maintained the more consistent course since then—Perdita or Marion? Logically, Perdita. She had agreed, for Bendibow’s sake, and at Marion’s request, outwardly to ignore the fact that she was Grantley’s daughter: and how, on that understanding, could she act otherwise than she had done? There was no logical answer to this question; on the contrary, it was Marion who had receded from her position. And yet Marion could not admit herself unjust. Though Perdita had not altered her course, Marion was persuaded that she had changed her motives in pursuing it. It was no longer compassion for Sir Francis that swayed her, but designs upon Philip. It would be impossible to describe, or even to know, by precisely what means Marion had arrived at this conclusion. It is instinct, not reason, that warns a woman when to be jealous of another: and it seems as if she could perceive the purpose in the other’s heart, even before it has declared itself in any overt act. In such circumstances, however, the injured woman can do nothing but affirm her conviction: by the magnetism whereof, and by no other means, can she hope to influence the man. But he can always out-argue her, if he chooses.
Though she felt the premonition of defeat, therefore, Marion resolved not to give up the contest: the spirit of her father was aroused in her, and she was strengthened by the thought that she was fighting not only for herself, but in behalf of Philip’s higher self likewise.
“Don’t you think there is something more than legal rights to be considered?” she said at last. “Would you condescend to accept favors from a woman like Madame Desmoines?”
“I know nothing of Madame Desmoines that puts her below the level of other people: but there is no favor in the matter. She is doing what pleases her best, without any reference to me: and I simply accept things as they are.”
“She means to put you under an obligation to her, and to use the power that will give her. You say you can read the human heart, Philip: can’t you read so easy a thing as that? That was the reason I would not take the money; and if I would not, much less should you.”
“Was that your reason? It was not the one you gave, if I remember right.”
“I believed, then, that you were generous enough to spare me the affront of such an explanation,” said Marion haughtily. “But after all, it is more for your sake than mine ... it would look better for me to be obliged to her, than for you. And for you to accept what I refused is as much as to say that you disapproved what I did.”
“Well, perhaps I did. It doesn’t follow, because I let you have your way, that I thought you were acting sensibly. And ’tis certainly no reason why you should force me to make another such sacrifice on my own account. There’s a limit to everything!”