“I hardly know how to explain to you what I wish to say, or how far I may be justified in supposing that you will believe me to be acting solely on Glencora’s behalf. I think you have some influence with her;—and I know no one else that has any.”
“My friendship with her is not of very long date, Miss Palliser.”
“I know it, but still there is the fact. Am I not right in supposing—”
“In supposing what?”
“In supposing that you had heard the name of Mr. Fitzgerald as connected with Glencora’s before her marriage with my cousin?”
Alice paused a moment before she answered.
“Yes, I had,” she then said.
“And I think you were agreed, with her other relations, that such a marriage would have been very dreadful.”
“I never spoke of the matter in the presence of any relatives of Glencora’s. You must understand, Miss Palliser, that though I am her faraway cousin, I do not even know her nearest connections. I never saw Lady Midlothian till she came here the other day.”
“But you advised her to abandon Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“Never!”
“I know she was much with you, just at that time.”
“I used to see her, certainly.”
Then there was a pause, and Miss Palliser, in truth, scarcely knew how to go on. There had been a hardness about Alice which her visitor had not expected—an unwillingness to speak or even to listen, which made Miss Palliser almost wish that she were out of the room. She had, however, mentioned Burgo Fitzgerald’s name, and out of the room now she could not go without explaining why she had done so. But at this point Alice came suddenly to her assistance.
“Just then she was often with me,” said Alice, continuing her reply; “and there was much talk between us about Mr. Fitzgerald. What was my advice then can be of little matter; but in this we shall be both agreed, Miss Palliser, that Glencora now should certainly not be called upon to be in his company.”
“She has told you, then?”
“Yes;—she has told me.”
“That he is to be at Lady Monk’s?”
“She has told me that Mr. Palliser expects her to meet him at the place to which they are going when they leave the Duke’s, and that she thinks it hard that she should be subjected to such a trial.”
“It should be no trial, Miss Vavasor.”
“How can it be otherwise? Come, Miss Palliser; if you are her friend, be fair to her.”
“I am her friend;—but I am, above everything, my cousin’s friend. He has told me that she has complained of having to meet this man. He declares that it should be nothing to her, and that the fear is an idle folly. It should be nothing to her, but still the fear may not be idle. Is there any reason—any real reason—why she should not go? Miss Vavasor, I conjure you to tell me—even though in doing so you must cast so deep reproach upon her name! Anything will be better than utter disgrace and sin!”
“I conceive that I cast no reproach upon her in saying that there is great reason why she should not go to Monkshade.”
“You think there is absolute grounds for interference? I must tell him, you know, openly what he would have to fear.”
“I think—nay, Miss Palliser, I know—that there is ample reason why you should save her from being taken to Monkshade, if you have the power to do so.”
“I can only do it, or attempt to do it, by telling him just what you tell me.”
“Then tell him. You must have thought of that, I suppose, before you came to me.”
“Yes;—yes, Miss Vavasor. I had thought of it. No doubt I had thought of it. But I had believed all through that you would assure me that there was no danger. I believed that you would have said that she was innocent.”
“And she is innocent,” said Alice, rising from her chair, as though she might thus give emphasis to words which she hardly dared to speak above a whisper. “She is innocent. Who accuses her of guilt? You ask me a question on his behalf—”
“On hers—and on his, Miss Vavasor.”
“A question which I feel myself bound to answer truly—to answer with reference to the welfare of them both; but I will not have it said that I accuse her. She had been attached to Mr. Fitzgerald when your cousin married her. He knew that this had been the case. She told him the whole truth. In a worldly point of view her marriage with Mr. Fitzgerald would probably have been very imprudent.”
“It would have been utterly ruinous.”
“Perhaps so; I say nothing about that. But as it turned out, she gave up her own wishes and married your cousin.”
“I don’t know about her own wishes, Miss Vavasor.”
“It is what she did. She would have married Mr. Fitzgerald, had she not been hindered by the advice of those around her. It cannot be supposed that she has forgotten him in so short a time. There can be no guilt in her remembrance.”
“There is guilt in loving any other than her husband.”
“Then, Miss Palliser, it was her marriage that was guilty, and not her love. But all that is done and past. It should be your cousin’s object to teach her to forget Mr. Fitzgerald, and he will not do that by taking her to a house where that gentleman is staying.”
“She has said so much to you herself?”
“I do not know that I need declare to you what she has said herself. You have asked me a question, and I have answered it, and I am thankful to you for having asked it. What object can either of us have but to assist her in her position?”
“And to save him from dishonour. I had so hoped that this was simply a childish dread on her part.”
“It is not so. It is no childish dread. If you have the power to prevent her going to Lady Monk’s,
