A few days later, Lady Tatham received a letter, which she opened with some agitation. It was from Lydia in London:
"DEAR LADY TATHAM:
"I have waited some weeks before writing to you, partly because, as Susy I hear has told you, I have been busy nursing my mother's sister, but still more because my heart failed me—again and again.
"And yet I feel I ought to write—partly in justice to myself—partly to ask you to forgive the pain I fear I may have caused you. I know—for he has told me—that Lord Tatham never concealed from you all that has passed between us; and so I feel sure that you know what happened about a month ago, when we agreed that it would be wiser not to meet again for the present.
"I don't exactly want to defend myself. It still seems to me true that, in the future, men and women will find it much more possible to be comrades and friends, without any thought of falling in love or marrying, than they do now; and that it will be a good thing for both. And if it is true, are not some of us justified in making experiments now? Lord Tatham I know will have told you I was quite frank from the beginning. I did not wish to marry; but I meant to be a very true friend; and I wanted to be allowed to love you both, as one loves one's friends, and to share your life a little. And the thing I most wished was that Lord Tatham should marry—some one quite different from myself.
"So we agreed that we would write, and share each other's feelings and thoughts as far as we could. And I hoped that any other idea with regard to me would soon pass out of Lord Tatham's mind. I did—most sincerely; and I think he believes that I did. How good and dear he always was to me!—how much I have learnt from him! And yet I am afraid it was all very blind, and ill-considered—perhaps very selfish—on my part. I did not understand what harm I might do; though I hope with all my heart—and believe—that I have not done anything irreparable. It is very hard for me to regret it; because all my life I shall be the richer and the wiser for having known so good a man; one so true, so unselfish, so high-minded. Women so rarely come to know men, except in marriage, or through books; and your son's character has sweetened and ennobled whole sides of life for me—forever.
"But if—in return—I have given him pain—and you, who love him! I was always afraid of you—but I would have done anything in the world to serve you. Will you let me have a little word—just to tell me that you forgive, and understand. I ask it with a very sore heart—full, full of gratitude to him and to you, for all your goodness."
* * * * *
Victoria was oddly affected by this letter. It both touched and angered her. She was touched by what it said, deeply touched; and angered by what it omitted. And yet how could the writer have said anything more!—or anything else! Victoria admitted that her thoughts had run far beyond what she knew—in any true sense—or had any right to conjecture. Nevertheless the fact in her belief remained a fact, that but for Faversham and some disastrous influence he had gained over her almost at once, Harry would have had his chance with Lydia Penfold. As it was, she had been allowing Harry to offer her his most intimate thoughts and feelings, while she was actually falling in love with his inferior. This was what enraged Victoria. Whatever Cyril Boden might say, it seemed to her maternal jealousy something equivalent to the betrayal of a sacred confidence.
Yet clearly she could not say so to Lydia Penfold—nor could Lydia confess it! She wrote as follows: