She linked her hands closely about his arm and turned to her uncle. John, facing the door, moved slowly toward it, trying gently to disengage her hands, and forcing her to walk a step or two backward as she spoke.
"I must ask you to apologize to Mr. Landless, Uncle Peter," she said earnestly. "Whatever fault there has been, if there has been any, is mine. I have often spoken to you of meeting Mr.—of meeting John at Saint Ruth's. But I see now you didn't realize how often I went there, nor that I was with him so many of the times. I should have told you, Uncle Peter; the fault was mine, not John's. I am sorry, Uncle Peter, and I ask you to forgive me. But you must apologize to John." She looked at the stern face entreatingly; the doorway was very near.
"Oh, John," she implored, "I beg you to wait a moment; just a tiny second. Uncle Peter will tell you he didn't understand."
John stopped, and stood facing the doorway his back turned to Sir Peter.
They waited in silence; the slow ticking of the tall clock could be heard.
"I love him dearly, Uncle Peter," whispered Phyllis.
Ah! Valentine Germain; pretty, dead Valentine Germain; your daughter is wonderfully like you now.
"I ask you to wait, Landless," said Sir Peter.
His next words were calmly spoken; deliberate passionless; the more awful for that.
"I have known one reckless marriage, Landless, and one is enough for a lifetime. There is a taint in all of this of which you know nothing. This unhappy child's father was a fool. Her mother was a shallow, soulless, shameless creature—and worse. Her——"