"How any man in his senses could possibly prefer May to Aileen is a mystery I cannot solve; but then these things puzzle the wisest of us at times. Mind, my boy, I don't really say you do prefer May—I should be very unhappy if I thought so. I know—I am certain you love Aileen best; and I am equally certain she is a thousand times better suited to you. Then, as a man of honor, you owe it to her. You have paid Miss Jocyln such attention as no honorable gentleman should pay any lady, except the one he means to make his wife."
Lady Thetford's son rose abruptly, and stood leaning against the mantel, looking steadfastly into the fire.
"Rupert, tell me truly, if May Everard had not come here would you not before this have asked Aileen to be your wife?"
"Yes—no—I don't know. Mother!" the young man cried, impatiently, "what has May Everard done that you should treat her like this?"
"Nothing; I love her dearly, and you know it. But she is not suited to you—she is not the woman you should marry."
Sir Rupert laughed—a hard strident laugh.
"I think Miss Everard is much of your opinion, my lady. You might have spared yourself all these fears and perplexities, for the simple reason that I should have been refused had I asked."
"Rupert!"
"Nay, mother mine, no need to wear that frightened face. I haven't asked Miss Everard in so many words to marry me, and she hasn't declined with thanks; but she would if I did. I saw enough to-day for that."
"Then you don't care for Aileen?" with a look of blank consternation.