"And why?"
Laying down the fan upon her knee, the young lady now applied her nimble fingers to smoothing the white and curling tips of the feathers.
The color rushed into Lady Coryston's lightly wrinkled cheeks.
"Because it rarely or never answers that persons from such different worlds, holding such different opinions, and with such different antecedents, should marry," she said, firmly. "Because I could not welcome you as a daughter—and because a marriage with you would disastrously affect the prospects of my son."
"I wonder what you mean by 'such different worlds,'" said Miss Glenwilliam, with what seemed an innocent astonishment. "Arthur and I always go to the same dances."
Lady Coryston's flush deepened angrily. She had some difficulty in keeping her voice in order.
"I think you understand what I mean. I don't wish to be the least rude."
"Of course not. But—is it my birth, or my poverty, that you most dislike?"
"Poverty has nothing to do with it—nothing at all. I have never considered money in connection with Arthur's marriage, and never shall."
"Because you have so much of it?" Lifting her broad, white brow from the fan on her knee, Enid turned the astonishing eyes beneath it on the lady in black sitting beside her. And for the first time the lady in black was conscious of the malice lurking in the soft voice of the speaker.