“With Mme. de Vigny? Pouf! There were faults on both sides.”
“On Mme. de Vigny’s and his? Certainly.”
“Not at all. On his and Lady Francis’. She certainly led him a life.”
“A life he deserved! He—married to her.” He looked suddenly at his companion, and the touch of passion in his eyes revealed all things. “To that poor, sweet, pretty girl. He to play fast and loose with her, a child just out of her schoolroom. It”—he paused and commanded himself—“In my opinion it was contemptible.”
“You give yourself away a good deal,” said Castleton, who looked amused—who looked, indeed, as if he would like to laugh. He had a great affection for Jacynth, who was rather a special sort of man, and in spite of his mirth felt sorry for him. “You are, I presume, on the side of Lady Francis.”
“That would be an impertinence from any man but you,” said Jacynth moodily. “There is no need to go into it, however. Whether I love her or not is no matter. It”—miserably—“can never matter now. What I do is—to pity her with all my soul.”
“Because of her marriage?”
Jacynth looked at him as if hesitating.
“For that too,” said he deliberately. “She married, in my opinion, the last man in the world who would have made her really happy. But my pity did not run that way. I was thinking of that miserable trial and its consequences.”
“Yes, she was a trifle too magnanimous there,” said Castleton, believing the other knew all about it. “It would have been better, to my way of thinking, if she had told the broad truth, and let Onslow take his chance.”