"Mr. Chandos also," she assented, having paused to look in my face before speaking. "They meet there more frequently than the house suspects."
"But why may they not meet? Why is it that they live estranged—or appear to do so?"
"Sit you down," she said, drawing me along the passage and into a small sitting-room. "Here is a warm seat by the fire. There is estrangement between Mr. and Mrs. Chandos, but how far it precisely extends I cannot tell you."
"I did not ask you how far the estrangement extended; I asked you its cause."
"Be content with knowing what you do know, Miss Hereford, without inquiring into causes. The advice is offered you in kindness. I can tell you one thing, that never was more impassioned love given to woman than he at one time felt for Mrs. Chandos."
Ashamed I am to confess that the words caused my heart to chill and my face to burn. I turned the latter where it could not be seen. Mrs. Penn continued.
"He says he loves you, but, compared with the passion he once bore for Mrs. Chandos, his love for you is as nothing. Contrast the pale cold beams of the moon with the burning rays of the tropical sun, and you have a type of that passion, and of this one."
"Why do you say this to me? Is it well?"
"I deem it well. I say it because I think it right that you should know it: were you my own child I should say more. You have one course only before you, my dear, a plain and simple one."
"What is it?"