He was silent. Mr. Thompson waited for a second or two, not wishing to interrupt: then he said—
"Of course you know her better than I do; but that is not how I should read the situation. It is far more probable that her own eyes have been gradually opening—not to what her grandfather is, but to what he may appear to be in the eyes of the world; and when she has come more and more to perceive the little likelihood of his being considerately judged, she may have determined that you should be set free from all association with him and with her. I think that is far more likely, in view of the things you have told me. And I can imagine her doing that. A resolute young creature; ready to sacrifice herself; used to wandering, too—her first solution of any difficulty would be to 'go away.' A touch of pride, perhaps, as well. I dare say she has discovered that if you look at George Bethune through blue spectacles, his way of life must look rather questionable; but if you look at him through pink spectacles, everything is pleasant, and fine, and even grand. But would she ask anyone to put on a pair of pink spectacles? No; for she has the stiff neck of the Bethunes. I imagine she can hold her head as high as any one, now she is grown up. And of course she will not ask for generous interpretation; she will rather 'go away.'"
Vincent was still silent; but at length he said—as if speaking to himself—
"I wonder what Maisrie must have thought of me."
He had evidently been going over all that had happened in those bygone days—by the light of this new knowledge.
"What do you mean?" the banker said.
"Why, if there were any generous interpretation needed or expected, surely it should have come first of all from me. The outside world might be excused for thinking this or that of Mr. Bethune; but I was constantly with him; and then, look at the relations that existed between Maisrie and myself. I thought I was doing enough in the way of generosity when I tried to shut my eyes to certain things; whereas I should have tried to see more clearly. I might have understood—if any one. I remember now Maisrie's saying to me on one occasion—it was about that book on the Scottish-American poets—she said quite piteously: 'Don't you understand? Don't you understand that grandfather can persuade himself of anything? If he has thought a thing over, he considers it done, and is ready for something else.' And then there was another time——"
"Come, come," said Mr. Thompson, good-naturedly, "I don't see you have much to reproach yourself with. You must admit that that affair—if he really did see the proof-sheets in New York—looked pretty bad. You say yourself that Hugh Anstruther was staggered by it——"
"Yes, he was," said Vincent, "until I explained that the money had been repaid to Lord Musselburgh, and also that I had no doubt Mr. Bethune considered himself, from his knowledge of the subject, quite entitled to publish a volume on the other side of the water. Mr. Ross's book was published only on this side—at least, that is my impression."
"Did you tell Anstruther who repaid the money to Lord Musselburgh?" Mr. Thompson asked, with a shrewd glance.