"You both insist that the fellow is—is not absolutely unspeakable! I should never have thought it of you, Genevieve, nor of such a thorough gentleman as Lord Avondale—gentleman in our sense of the term,—refined, cultured, and clean. Were he one of the gentry who have reasons for leaving England,—who go West and consort with ruffians—remittance men—But no. Lady Chetwynd assured me he has been presented at Court, and you know the strictness of Queen Mary."
"You admit that Lord Avondale is, shall I say—perfect. Yet—"
"He is irreproachable, my dear, except as regards his extraordinary insistence upon an intimate friendship with that man."
"That is what confirms my good opinion of him, Aunt Amice."
"That!"
"It proves he is himself manly and sincere."
Mrs. Gantry raised a plump hand, palm outward. "Between the two of you—"
"We know Mr. Blake—the real man. You do not."
"I never shall. I will not receive him—never. He is impossible!"
"What! never?—the man who saved me from starvation, fever, wild beasts, from all the horrors of that savage coast?—the intimate friend of the Earl of Avondale?"