“I don’t know,” said Mr Gresham, slowly; “I really cannot say. There was something indefinite, unsatisfactory, in her manner.”
“It is surely natural enough that a girl of any refinement would detest to be mixed up in a scene with Mrs Worthing’s maid, or Mrs Anybody’s maid,” said Michael, hotly. “A low-minded, suspicious servant! Of course, Miss Raynsworth treated the thing as beneath contempt. And after all,” he went on, cooling down again, “what can you be afraid of? What do you suppose it can be but some mistake? The girl is not a servant. Would a whole family, including the Lermonts, combine to pass her off as a lady if she were not one? It is inconceivable. Besides, Mrs Marmaduke Headfort spoke of her sister Philippa to you often at Wyverston. I remember hearing her say how unlike they were.”
“Yes,” Mr Gresham agreed. “I know she did, and I had seen her myself—you forget—the same girl that I met at Cannes—I had seen her at Dorriford.”
“Then what in heaven’s name are you worrying about?” exclaimed Michael. “You blow hot and cold with one breath.”
“I have no doubt that it is all right, practically,” said his cousin. “She must be herself. What I dread is the possibility of some wild practical joke—acting a part for a wager,” and here he shuddered. “Can you imagine anything more detestable for me? The sort of thing I could not stand coming up in the future about my wife. It would be insufferable.”
“Then why risk it? Why take any steps towards making her your wife?” said Michael. His tone was peculiar.
Bernard Gresham’s face fell.
“You really think there is risk of something of the kind? you seriously advise me to give it up?” he said. “I had hoped you might suggest something, that possibly you might have found out what it has all arisen from, and set my mind at rest.”
Michael shook his head and laughed, somewhat grimly. “Not if I know it,” he said. “I would do a great deal to oblige you, but not act detective, thank you, my good fellow. Do I advise you to give it up? Well, yes, if,” and here his voice softened and deepened till its tones were very grave and yet almost tender too, “if you cannot entirely and absolutely trust a woman to be incapable of any really unladylike or unfeminine action, or course of action—well, yes, without such trust I should strongly advise you, for her sake, even more than your own, to give up all idea of making her your wife.”
Mr Gresham’s face had brightened at first; as Michael came to a conclusion it fell again.