Rose Lyndwood laughed.
"Your malady is plain, my dear: you are too young and too serious; a season in London will cure you."
Marius moved from the window.
"I might have known that you would sneer at me," he said, holding his head haughtily, "but scoff as you will, my lord, I have no zest for these follies that please you."
My lord laughed again; there was no change in his handsome face; under his air of lightness a melancholy indifference seemed habitual.
"My follies are my own affair, are they not?" he asked carelessly.
"I do not know," answered Marius, "but it seems to me 'tis an ignoble business, as you have handled it."
"As I have handled it?" questioned the Earl.
"You will reprove me for my impertinence if I speak further," said Marius, "and you are the head of the house; yet perhaps those few years between us do not rob me of the right to say that your courses go far to dishonour us."
"Oh, Marius!" cried his brother, smiling, "thou art become a sad virtuous fellow; concern not thyself with me, thine own good qualities will save the name of Lyndwood."