Beecham’s brows lowered, but not frowningly, as he looked long at her flushed face, and saw that the bright eyes had become brighter still in the excitement of her indignant repudiation of the charge he made.
‘Do you like the man?’ he asked in a low tone.
The question had never occurred to her before, and in the quick self-survey which it provoked, she was not prepared to say ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ In the moment, too, she remembered Uncle Dick’s unexplained quarrel with Mr Hadleigh on the market-day, and also that Uncle Dick, who wore his heart upon his sleeve, never much favoured the Master of Ringsford.
‘He is Philip’s father,’ she answered simply; and in giving the answer, she felt that it was enough for her. She must like everybody who belonged to Philip.
‘Is that all?’
‘It is enough,’ she said impatiently.
‘Do not be angry with me; but try to see a little with my eyes. You will do so when you learn how guilty he is.’
‘I will not hear it!’ and she moved.
‘For Philip’s sake,’ he said softly but firmly, ‘if not for that of another, who would tell you it was right that you should hear me.’
Madge stood still, her face towards the wall, so that he could not see her agitation. The bright fire cast the shadow of his profile on the same wall, and the silhouette, grotesquely exaggerated as the outlines were, still suggested suffering rather than anger.