"You are sorry you did, I suppose!" she went on in a quick, reckless way—"Anyhow, I tried to do my duty. When I heard by chance that the old farmer who had taken care of the child was dead, I made up my mind to go and see what she was like. I found her, and offered to adopt her—but she wouldn't hear of it—so I let her be."
Lord Blythe moved a little from his statuesque attitude of attention.
"You told her you were her mother?"
"I did."
"And offered to 'adopt' your own child?" She gave an airy gesture.
"It was the only thing to do! One cannot make a social scandal."
"And she refused?"
"She refused."
"I admire her for it," said Lord Blythe, calmly.
She shot an angry glance at him. He went on in cold, deliberate accents.