"Yet his wife," murmured Miss Boyle; "and I had no right—oh!"—with an accent of deep distress, "should I go to her, implore her not to think ill of me?"
Miss Chressham's eyes flashed.
"What are you thinking of, my dear? She would insult you."
"Indeed, I could not do it—discuss this—him—with his wife! This is terrible, and my fault!"
"It is Rose's fault," cried Susannah, with a heaving breast. "He had no right to do as he did. You and he considered it his duty; I never did. My lady was not penniless, and Marius could have taken his life in his own hands. Rose obeyed his own imprudence—his own recklessness—in marrying this woman; because of my lady's tears and the reproaches of Marius he sells himself on the instant to a tradesman's daughter, and brings into the family a creature that will surely ruin it!"
"Yet it was nobly done," murmured Selina.
"But wilful nobleness, and in any case a mistake," answered Miss Chressham; "a mistake we are all paying for in misery and bitterness. How dare he set this woman up as mistress of his house where she is in a position to work harm among all for whom he ever cared?"
"Maybe you are right, Susannah," she said faintly and wistfully, "but—ah, well, I know what they say of him, nor can I justify my heart to my reason. Yet, if it were certain sin, as it is certain pain, I could not forbear from caring."
"I am a fine one to preach," said Miss Chressham in a desperate way. "Do I not know that he is lovable?" She left her chair and hung over Selina. "Do not shed tears about it. We will find some way, indeed we will."
Miss Boyle turned and clung to her.