Mr. Langton, taking one gingerly between his fingers, resumes:
"There is a good deal more to Reine than we thought for. I am downright pleased over the exchange of heiresses I made. I wish now, seeing how all fell out, that I had taken her without encumbrance."
"Meaning me?" Vane asks, with an uncomfortable flush.
"Meaning you," Mr. Langton replies, beginning to puff away furiously at his Havana, as if he were a smoke-stack. "You see I am mistaken in you, Vane. After all you said I didn't believe it was in you to treat your bride in such a cavalier style. If I had thought you would really run away from Reine the next day, and set all the country talking and sneering, you might have gone to the devil before I'd have given you my pretty little niece!"
"The regret is mutual, sir," Vane replies, with some heat; and then, glancing up, warned by some strange instinct, he sees his unloved wife standing just within the door.
She has entered just in time to catch Mr. Langton's closing speech and the angry answer.
Vane sprang to his feet, very red and confused.
"I—I beg your pardon," he says, in the utmost confusion.
She bows, speechlessly. Her face has gone quite white; her eyes shun his in a kind of fearful shame. She says at last, in a strange voice, but with desperate calmness:
"I feared Uncle Langton would be rude to you. You must pardon him, and pardon me."