“It was a rash promise, and such are better broken than kept.”
“Your Bible, Aunt Rachel—to-night, I cannot call it mine!—commends him who swears to his own heart and changes not,” replied the niece, with restored steadiness. “It would have been the same had I refused my consent to Winston's proposal. I am a minor, and who would wait two years for me?”
“Anybody who loved you, provided your trust in him equalled his in you,” said Mrs. Sutton, slyly.
Mabel's answer was direct.
“You want me to say that I do not believe this tale of Mr. Chilton's early errors; to brand it as a mistake or fabrication. You insinuate that, in reserving my sentence until I shall have heard both sides of it, I show myself unworthy of the love of a true man; betray of what mean stuff my affection is made. I suppose blind faith is sublime! But for my part, I had rather be loved in spite of my known faults, than receive wilfully ignorant worship.”
The daring stroke at Mrs. Sutton's hypothesis of the inseparable union between esteem and affection, excited her into an impolitic admission.
“My child, you make my blood run cold! You do not mean that you could love a man for whose character you had no respect!”
“There is a difference between learning to love and continuing to love,” said Mabel, sententiously. “But we have had enough of useless talk, aunt. In two days more Winston will be here. Until then, let matters remain as they are. You can tell Rosa as much or as little as you like of what has happened. She must suspect that something has gone awry. To-morrow, I will look up this Mr. Jenkyns, and deliver the messages with which I am charged—likewise consult the mason about the 'baronial' fireplace,” smiling bitterly.
“You never saw another creature so altered as she is,” Mrs. Sutton bewailed to Rosa, in rehearsing the scene. “If this thing should turn out to be true, she is ruined and heart-broken for life. She will become a cold, cynical, unfeeling woman—a feminine copy of her granite brother.”
“If!” reiterated Rosa, testily. “There is not one syllable of truth in it from Alpha to Omega! I know he is your nephew, and that it is one af the Medo-Persian laws of Ridgeley that the king can do no wrong; but I would sooner believe that Winston Aylett invented the slander throughout, than question Fred Chilton's integrity. There is foul play somewhere, as you will discover in time—or out of it!”