‘Mr. Speid must have been mad to leave it to him. You would not care to be the wife of an interloper! That is what he is.’
‘All that can change nothing,’ said Cecilia, after a moment. ‘The man is the same; he has done no wrong.’
‘His very existence is a wrong,’ cried Lady Eliza, her hand shutting tightly on the gloves she held; ‘it is a wrong done by an infamous woman!’
‘I love him,’ said Cecilia: ‘nothing can alter that. You received him, and you told me nothing, and the thing is done—not that I would undo it if I could. How could I know that you would be so much against it?’
‘I had rather anything in the world than this!’ exclaimed the other—‘anyone but this man! What has driven you to make such a choice?’
‘Does it seem so hard to understand why anyone should love Gilbert Speid?’
‘It is a calamity that you should; think of it again—to please me—to make me happy. I can scarcely bear the thought, child; you do not know the whole of this miserable business.’
‘And I hoped that you would be so pleased!’
The tears were starting to Cecilia’s eyes; her nerves, strained to the utmost by the emotions of the day, were beginning to give way.
‘Whanland is so near,’ she said; ‘we should scarcely have to part, dear aunt.’