Rose Lyndwood was silent; he picked up the quill in his fine slack hand and toyed with it.
"My lord," continued Marius, breathing heavily, "it was not she—I never—I mean Aspasia."
The Earl lifted his gaze from the idle pen and gave one of his sweet, swift smiles.
"You will find Aspasia yet, my dear."
The painful colour deepened in his brother's face.
"That is not what I mean to say—last summer—you may have thought, might think, but she was never more than gracious—we only met by chance, that time. I—I never more than took her hand."
He turned away abruptly, and the Earl saw his shoulders heave.
"My lady was nothing but honoured by homage such as thine, Marius."
A little silence fell, the bronze clock struck nine, and the unsnuffed candles cast a strong fluttering light over the two quiet figures and sent faint curls of smoke towards the high dark ceiling.