"Your Grace was misinformed. I have no sister," Mrs. Northey replied, her voice a trifle high, and her thin nostrils more pinched than usual. "From the moment Miss Maitland left this house in such a way as to bring scandal on my husband's name, she ceased to be my sister. Lord Northey has claims upon us. We acknowledge them."
The duchess stared, but did not answer.
"My husband has claims upon me, I acknowledge them," Mrs. Northey continued with majesty.
The duchess still stared; her manner betrayed that she was startled.
"Well, of course," she said at last, "that is what we all wish other people to do in these cases; for the sake of example, you know, and to warn the--the young. But, dear me," rubbing her nose reflectively with the corner of her snuff-box, "it's very sad! I don't know, I really don't know that I should have the courage to do it--in Betty's case now. His Grace would--would expect it, of course. But really I don't know!"
"Your Grace is the best judge in your own case," Mrs. Northey said, her breath coming a little quickly. "For our part," she added, looking upward with an air of self-denial, "Mr. Northey and I have determined to give no sanction to a connection so discreditable!"
The duchess had a vision of her own spoiled daughter laid ill in a six-shilling lodging, of a mother stealing to her under cover of darkness, and in his Grace's teeth; of a tiny baby the image of Betty at that age. And she clutched her snuff-box tightly, "I suppose the man is--is impossible?" she said impulsively.
"He is quite impossible."
"Mr. Northey has not seen him?"
"Certainly not," Mrs. Northey exclaimed, with a virtuous shudder.