“Oh, why keep up the farce of Mr. Charles?” cried Matilda. “Say Marjory at once. We know it is all her hatching, this conspiracy; and oh! you may be quite sure whatever can be done, by law, against conspiracy—”
“Hold your tongue, Matty,” said Verna, in a sharp whisper. “You fool! don’t be always showing your hand.”
“As if I cared!” cried Matilda; “as if I did not see Marjory’s hand! Besides, it is well known that she keeps him to run errands for her, and do whatever she tells him. Oh! say it out! We are prepared for everything you have to say.”
“Then my errand may be all the shorter,” said Fanshawe. “It is only to tell you, from Mr. Hay-Heriot, that a discovery has been made about your brother-in-law, Tom Heriot. It has been found out that he was married, and has left a son—”
Here he was interrupted by a defiant peal of laughter, and looking up, surprised, saw both ladies laughing almost violently, as at the most excellent joke.
“Oh! this is too good,” the one said to the other; “too good; just what we expected. But Marjory might have invented something better,” said Matilda. “I could have made up a better story myself.”
Fanshawe stood, struck dumb, as a man of his breeding and character could not fail to be by such a rude and foolish reception of his message. He did not know how to reply. They spoke, as it were, another language, of which he had no comprehension.
“I had better withdraw, I think,” he said. “I don’t know what I can add, or reply; there is nothing, so far as I know, that I can say more.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt Marjory entrusted you with a great deal more to say!” cried Mrs. Charles. “She wanted to humble us; but you may tell her she sha’n’t humble us. We are people who can defend ourselves. If she isn’t clever enough even to make up a better story than this—”
“I think,” said Fanshawe, “it would be well to leave Miss Heriot out of the discussion; she has nothing to do with it—and, as it is evident, that you do not in the least understand her—”