some voices that speech might have sounded entirely reverential,
and even timidly apologetic. Lush had no intention to the contrary, but
to Gwendolen's ear his words had as much insolence in them as his
prominent eyes, and the pronoun "you" was too familiar. He ought to
have addressed the folding-screen, and spoke of her as Mrs. Grandcourt.
She gave the smallest sign of a bow, and Lush went on, with a little
awkwardness, getting entangled in what is elegantly called tautology.

"My having been in Mr. Grandcourt's confidence for fifteen years or
more--since he was a youth, in fact--of course gives me a peculiar
position. He can speak to me of affairs that he could not mention to
any one else; and, in fact, he could not have employed any one else in
this affair. I have accepted the task out of friendship for him. Which
is my apology for accepting the task--if you would have preferred some
one else."

He paused, but she made no sign, and Lush, to give himself a
countenance in an apology which met no acceptance, opened the folded
paper, and looked at it vaguely before he began to speak again.

"This paper contains some information about Mr. Grandcourt's will, an
abstract of a part he wished you to know--if you'll be good enough to
cast your eyes over it. But there is something I had to say by way of
introduction--which I hope you'll pardon me for, if it's not quite
agreeable." Lush found that he was behaving better than he had
expected, and had no idea how insulting he made himself with his "not
quite agreeable."

"Say what you have to say without apologizing, please," said Gwendolen,
with the air she might have bestowed on a dog-stealer come to claim a
reward for finding the dog he had stolen.

"I have only to remind you of something that occurred before your
engagement to Mr. Grandcourt," said Lush, not without the rise of some
willing insolence in exchange for her scorn. "You met a lady in Cardell
Chase, if you remember, who spoke to you of her position with regard to
Mr. Grandcourt. She had children with her--one a very fine boy."

Gwendolen's lips were almost as pale as her cheeks; her passion had no
weapons--words were no better than chips. This man's speech was like a
sharp knife-edge drawn across her skin: but even her indignation at the
employment of Lush was getting merged in a crowd of other feelings, dim
and alarming as a crowd of ghosts.

"Mr. Grandcourt was aware that you were acquainted with this
unf