"Not I, madam," her husband protested, adopting for a moment her own formal mode of address, "not I, upon my life. Sinson declares that he has letters authorizing all he did, which he pretty plainly admitted to have been more than was honest. And these letters he threatened to use, unless I would purchase them."
"You did not!" Mrs. Pendarrel exclaimed.
"Of course I did not, my dear," was the reply. "I turned his absurd threats upon himself. But it is unpleasant to have these things said. And you see Truby's letter bears out the rumours."
"Ah, me!" Esther sighed, almost wringing her hands, "to what am I fallen?"
"My dear," her husband ventured to urge, "it is time this unhappy matter were settled. After the wrong which will have been done to Mr. Trevethlan"—he started when the name had passed his lips—"after that, I say, we must overlook what has occurred since."
"Do what you will," muttered his wife, "my part in the affair is over. But are you sure they will accept forgiveness? Has he asked for it?"
"Oh yes, dear mother," said Gertrude. "Let me intercede. My poor sister has no peace till she has thrown herself at your feet, and Randolph has none while she is unhappy."
"Well, well," Esther murmured, "I have no more to say. Bring them here, if you will, Gertrude. And since it must be so, the sooner the better."
"And really, my dear Esther," said the husband, "the match is not so disadvantageous after all. You see it will unite the properties, and if Trevethlan is now but a small estate, it is at least unencumbered, which is more than we could say of Tolpeden; and I remember that Mildred was telling me once—"
"Never mind now, papa," said Mrs. Winston, who saw that every word he uttered was a dagger in her mother's heart. "Let me go and prepare my sister to come home."