“To me?” Audley exclaimed. Was it possible that the thing he had so long feared—and had ceased to fear—was going to befall him? Was it possible that at the eleventh hour, when he had burnt his boats, when he had thought all danger at an end—no, it was impossible! “To me?” he repeated passionately.
“Yes,” Basset replied. “Or, rather, it would be of vital import to you in other circumstances.”
“In what other circumstances? What do you mean?”
“If you were not about to marry the only person who, with you, is interested.”
Audley cut short, by a tremendous effort, the execration that burst from his lips. His face, always too fleshy for his years, swelled till it was purple. Then, and as quickly, the blood ebbed, leaving it gray and flabby. He would have given much, very much at this moment to be able to laugh or to utter a careless word. But he could do neither. The blow had been too sudden, too heavy, too overwhelming. Only in his nightmares had he seen what he saw now!
Meanwhile Stubbs, startled by the half-uttered oath and a little out of his depth—for he had heard nothing of the engagement—intervened. “I think, my lord,” he said, “you had better leave this to me. I think you had, indeed. We are quite in the dark and we are not getting forward. Let us have the facts, Mr. Basset. What is the gist of this deed? Or, first, have you seen it?”
“I have.”
“And read it?”
“I have.”
“It appears to you—I only say it appears—to be genuine?”