"Mother, there is trouble enough upon us just now without introducing old vexations," rejoined Lionel. "I have told you before that had I never set eyes upon Sibylla after she married Frederick Massingbird, Mary Elmsley would not have been my wife."
"If he comes back, he comes back to Verner's Pride?" pursued Lady Verner in a low tone, breaking the pause which had ensued.
"Yes. Verner's Pride is his."
"And what shall you do? Turned, like a beggar, out on the face of the earth?"
Like a beggar? Ay, far more like a beggar than Lady Verner, in her worst apprehension, could picture.
"I must make my way on the earth as I best can," he replied in answer, "I shall leave Europe—probably for India. I may find some means, through my late father's friends, of getting my bread there."
Lady Verner appeared to appreciate the motive which no doubt dictated the suggested course. She did not attempt to controvert it; she only wrung her hands in passionate wailing.
"Oh, that you had not married her! that you had not subjected yourself to this dreadful blight!"
Lionel rose. There were limits of endurance even for his aching heart. Reproaches in a moment of trouble are as cold iron entering the soul.
"I will come in another time when you are more yourself, mother," was all he said. "I could have borne sympathy from you this morning, better than complaint."