Cyril spoke in a hard, even voice, and when he ceased there was silence in the room. Mansfield tried in vain to think of something to say, and each moment made the silence harder to interrupt. “I would never have believed it if any one else had told me,” he groaned at last, breaking the spell with a mighty effort.
“I knew that. You and I have taken a fancy to one another, Mansfield, and I was curious to see what you would say when you knew how I had treated the woman——”
“Who loved you,” supplied Mansfield, in a tone which was at once harsh and dull.
“And whom I loved.”
There was a further silence, then Mansfield came hesitatingly forward.
“I can’t help it,” he said. “I should never have thought I could speak civilly to a man who had done such a thing as that, but—it’s you.”
“My dear Mansfield!” The reaction from the strained feeling of the moment before forced a smile from Cyril. Mansfield sitting in judgment upon him, and allowing his just severity to be biassed by his affection for the culprit, was very funny. “You hate the sin, but you have a sneaking kindness left for the sinner, eh?”
Mansfield laughed uncomfortably, and Cyril shook his head.
“I am afraid I shall have to send you back to England, Mansfield. You must be deteriorating horribly, if you can condone such a departure from your creed, even in my case. I suppose I have corrupted you. What would Lady Phil say?”
“I shall never tell her. It would make her too miserable—about you, I mean. But, Count——”