Lady Mary looked at her father with a triumphant smile. She had gauged Isobel aright from the first.
Gone for ever the dishonouring suspicions of a designing young woman seeking to make her fortune by a wealthy marriage. It was all too obvious. With Guy’s departure from Spain, Isobel had everything to gain. With his sojourn in that dangerous country she stood to lose everything.
“Whether I marry Guy or not,” went on the low, sweet voice, breaking at the end into a little sob, “his honour is my first consideration.”
The General’s deep tones broke the intense silence that succeeded those few words.
“Lord Saxham, Lady Mary, I most heartily approve Isobel’s attitude. I am sure Mr Rossett feels as I do in this matter. If he deserted his post at this juncture, he would be like the soldier who runs away on the battlefield.”
Lord Saxham looked at the beautiful, slender girl, so noble in her self-sacrificing love.
“My dear,” he said, in tones that were a little unsteady, “you are a wonderful woman. Guy could not have chosen more wisely. I am sorry—very sorry—” He broke off. It was not perhaps precisely the moment to apologise for his previous obstinacy, his rancour against “the little girl who lived in a cottage at Eastbourne.”
Lady Mary went round the table, put her arms round her, and kissed her warmly.
“You are a brave and beautiful darling,” she said, with a woman’s enthusiasm. “You have taught both my father and myself a lesson in unselfishness. God grant that our dear Guy comes back to us safe and sound.”