maining by Cecile de Savenaye's side, abandoned your home to
fight in a cause that did not concern you; nay, more, turned your
back for the time upon those advanced social theories which even at
your present season of life you have not all shaken off. You travelled
with her from one end of England to the other, in the closest
intimacy, and finally departed over seas, her acknowledged escort. She
on her side, under pretext of securing the best help on her political
mission that England can afford her, selected a young man notoriously
in love with her, at the very age when the passions are hottest, and
wisdom the least consideration--as her influential agent, of course.
Men are men, Adrian--especially young men--small blame to you, young
that you were, if then ... but you cannot expect, in sober earnest,
the world to believe that you went on such a wild pilgrimage for
nothing! Women are women--especially young women, of the French
court--who have never had the reputation of admiring bashfulness in
stalwart young lovers...."

Sir Adrian's hand, pressing upon his brother's shoulder, as if
weighted by all his anger, here forced the speaker into silence.

"Shame! Shame, Rupert!" he cried first, his eyes aflame with a
generous passion; then fiercely: "Silence, fellow, or I will take you
by that brazen throat of yours and strangle the venomous lie once for
all." And then, with keen reproach, "That you, of my blood, of hers
too, should be the one to cast such a stigma on her memory--that you
should be unable even to understand the nature of our intercourse....
Oh, shame, on you for your baseness, for your vulgar, low
suspiciousness!... But, no, I waste my breath upon you, you do not
believe this thing. You have outwitted yourself this time. Hear me
now: If anything could have suggested to me this alliance with the
child of one I loved so madly and so hopelessly, the thought that such
dastardly slander could ever have been current would have done so. The
world, having nothing to gain by the belief, will never credit that
Sir Adrian Landale would marry the daughter of his paramour--however
his own brother may deem to his advantage to seem to think so! The
fact of Molly de Savenaye becoming Lady Landale would alone, had such
ill rumours indeed been current in the past, dispel the ungenerous
legend for ever."

There were a few moments of silence while Sir Adrian battled, in the
tumult of his indignation, for self-control again; w