"When I say that I regret the young man's folly, Miss Lawford," Paul continued, "believe me, it is chiefly on his account rather than my own. Any insult which he can inflict upon me can only rebound upon himself, since everybody in Lincolnshire knows that I am in the right, and he in the wrong."
Mr. Marchmont was going on very smoothly; but at this point Miss Lawford, who had by no means deserted her colours, interrupted his easy progress.
"It remains to be proved who is right and who wrong, Mr. Marchmont," she said. "Mr. Arundel is the brother of my friend. I cannot easily believe him to have done wrong."
Paul looked at her with a smile––a smile that brought hot blushes to her face; but she returned his look without flinching. The brave girl looked full into the narrow grey eyes sheltered under pale auburn lashes, and her steadfast gaze did not waver.
"Ah, Miss Lawford," said the artist, still smiling, "when a young man is handsome, chivalrous, and generous–hearted, it is very difficult to convince a woman that he can do wrong. Edward Arundel has done wrong. His ultra–quixotism has made him blind to the folly of his own acts. I can afford to forgive him. But I repeat that I regret his infatuation about this poor lost girl far more upon his account than on my own; for I know––at least I venture to think––that a way lies open to him of a happier and a better life than he could ever have known with my poor childish cousin Mary Marchmont. I have reason to know that he has formed another attachment, and that it is only a chivalrous delusion about that poor girl––whom he was never really in love with, and whom he only married because of some romantic notion inspired by my cousin John––that withholds him from that other and brighter prospect."
He was silent for a few moments, and then he said hastily,––
"Pardon me, Miss Lawford; I have been betrayed into saying much that I had better have left unsaid, more especially to you. I––––"
He hesitated a little, as if embarrassed; and then rose and looked into the next room, where the duet had been followed by a solo.
One of the Rector's daughters came towards the inner drawing–room, followed by a callow ensign.
"We want Belinda to sing," exclaimed Miss Davenant. "We want you to sing, you tiresome Belinda, instead of hiding yourself in that dark room all the evening."