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Once or twice Morewood broke into open comment to
Lady Richard; he puzzled her rather, and did not console her at all.
"I know why you object and how silly your grounds are," he said. "It's
snobbery in you, you know. Now in me it's good sound sense. Because in
the first place, if I were ten years younger, and ten times richer, and
rather more of a man, I should like to marry her myself; and in the
second place I'm not sure Quisante hasn't forged, or isn't about to
forge, a cheque for a million."
"Don't talk about it," shuddered little Lady Richard. "She can't care for
him, she can't, you know."
"Certainly not, in the sentimental sense that you women attach to that
very weak form of expression."
"And I'm sure there's nothing else to tempt her."
"You'll be laying down what does and doesn't tempt me next."
"I've known her since she was a child."
"There's nothing that produces so many false judgments of people."
Lady Richard was far too prostrate to accept any challenge.
"You do hate it as much as I do, don't you?" she implored.


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