“It is hardly fair to take it for granted that Mrs. Wemyss is guilty of hypocrisy,” he said with a touch of asperity. “I consider it very praiseworthy on her part to stick to her Christian principles even though she is on the stage. Her example is one which might be followed to advantage by the lesser luminaries of her profession.”
“That sounds very nice,” Mrs. Williams replied with a shrug. “But I am afraid that I do not believe in such goodness. The world—especially the theatrical world—is too full of sham and make-believe.”
“And yet there is plenty of unaffected sincerity too, if we only know where to look for it,” the peer returned musingly, his eyes still on Celia and Mrs. Potter Wemyss. “Do you know, I used to think that when a human being ceased to believe in goodness, and in God as the Author of all goodness, he—or she—was no longer fit to live. Sometimes I think so now.”
Mrs. Neville Williams bit her lip, although it was not Bexley’s fault if she chose to apply the remark to herself.
“That is rather a strong expression,” she said, her small foot tapping the ground.
“Yes, one feels strongly sometimes,” he rejoined; then turned to Haviland’s little girl, who had just come into the room.
Mrs. Williams moved away wondering what had occurred to vex his lordship, for that he had been put out about something was evident. It was a question whether she would have been pleased, had she known.
That very morning Lord Bexley had proposed marriage to Celia Franks, and, to his sorrow, had been refused. She liked and respected him immensely, she said, and felt honoured that he should desire to marry her; but she did not love him, and, having once experienced an engagement without love, she was anxious to avoid a repetition of the mistake. It was no wonder, therefore, that he was not in the happiest of moods. He had known all along that, having given up her own fortune for the sake of her belief, his rank and wealth were not likely to carry much weight; but such knowledge did not make his disappointment any the less keen.
“I think I shall join my sister in the South,” he said, when, Mrs. Potter Wemyss having taken her departure, he was able to speak to Celia. “London seems suddenly to have become cold and grey. It will be a relief to see sunny Italy once more.”
Celia turned to him with an expression of regret. “You make me feel that I am sending you away,” she said, with a touch of self-reproach. “I am so sorry, Lord Bexley, sorry that I have had to hurt you, I mean.”