The girl hesitated. She was not sure that she cared to be told anything which must be expressly kept back from her lover; but after a few moments’ consideration she yielded. After all, it might not be of much importance—a love-affair probably, for the Countess was still quite young.
“Very well, I promise,” she said.
“On your word of honour?”
“On my word of honour.”
Lady Chesterwood’s expression was inscrutable.
“Then I will tell you,” she said, after a moment’s pause. “I have received an offer of marriage from Mr. Athelstan Moore.”
Had she received an offer of marriage from his Satanic Majesty, her cousin could not have looked more aghast. She started to her feet, the colour ebbing from her cheeks.
“From Athelstan Moore?” she repeated, in a voice of excitement. “But surely you will not accept it? You cannot accept it!”
The Countess clasped her hands at the back of her head, and regarded her cousin imperturbably.
“Why not?” she asked, with irritating calmness. “I am only twenty-six, and tired of my widowhood. There is no earthly reason why I should not marry again. What could be more satisfactory than a widow with one little boy marrying a widower with one little girl? And Athelstan Moore is one of the first men in England, and has been angled for by every girl in society since his wife died. I should be very foolish if I did not give his proposal very careful consideration.”