Of course, Lady Mary knew that Moreno was the friend. Isobel thanked him warmly.
“How sweet and dear of you,” she said. “Of course you understand, now my dear father is gone, there is nothing left but Guy.”
Farquhar understood. His cousin had spoken with the unconscious cruelty of the self-centred lover. She had not considered Maurice’s feelings at all.
Farquhar rose. “I will write the letter at once, if you will permit me.” He turned to Lady Mary, who led him to a small morning-room, and spread paper and envelopes before him.
“You are very fond of Isobel?” he asked, before he began his letter, a rather long one, to Moreno.
“I love her like a younger sister, Mr Farquhar,” replied Mary enthusiastically. “And, of course, she very soon will be my sister. And, moreover, being a woman, I love all true lovers. She and Guy are so absorbed in each other.”
“Ah!” said the youthful barrister shortly. “And you love your brother too?”
“Dear old Guy! I simply adore him. He is one of the most lovable of men.”
Farquhar looked at her a little quizzically. “You have, I should say, a most beautiful nature; you see good in everything and everybody, don’t you?” Lady Mary shook her head. “No. I am more discriminating than you think. I fancy I can always tell the false from the true.”
“I wonder how you would reckon me up?”