"All morning one hung about the house of Mrs. Hope. Not coming near, but watching, watching. A little, slim, soft, pretty man, in gentleman's clothes. And it made her afraid."
"Ah!"
"Look here, the fellow in the park—the one with the message—he was an Italian! They all were!"
"Exactly! Now—Mrs. Deutch, what was that old secret in the life of the Hopes which turned the daughter into a cynic and a hater of social conventions? Ah, come, please!"
"Oh, sir, that was not a great thing!"
"What was it?"
"The sister of Mr. Hope found letters from him—old letters when Christina was fourteen—written to her who was afterwards his wife. The marriage had been so long forbidden, they were driven to see each other so seldom, secretly, alone, and in strange places. Sir, they were in love and they were very young."
"This was not known till Christina was fourteen?"
"No, sir."
"Then her birth was, of course, legitimate."