“That, madam, is within the King’s pleasure. To save himself he will show me the greater severity. You understand? I am to be the victim flung to the rage of a party—the clamor of a faction.” He paused a second, gazing over her head, then he struck his hand down on his sword-hilt.
“It is hardly credible!” he said.
“If what they say is true, it is well-deserved,” said Lady Stair evenly. “To your face, my lord, I say it; it is well-deserved.”
He glanced at her curiously.
“Ah—you think so?” he said in a contained voice.
“You would give me no denial,” she answered. “I think what I must think—I conclude what your silence causes me to conclude.”
“It is a matter of no moment,” said Lord Stair. “Perhaps—” and he smiled unpleasantly, “it is as well that my downfall will at least give no one pain.”
“Perhaps it is as well,” she assented coldly. Her ringed hand stirred through the fountain and the water-lilies trembled at her touch; a low passing cloud cast a shadow over the grass. Lord Stair stood silent with a hard and angry face; his wife spoke again.
“Yet I ask you, my lord, what you mean by ruin?”
“Are there, madam, so many forms of it?”