Haven't I often felt inwardly virtuous on the strength of my compassion (more sentimental than practical!) for Susan's motherlessness? How do I know that the poor good creature has not consciously pitied me on the same account? It isn't too much to say that Susan has been almost a mother to me over and over again. Surely, then, it is my duty to be a mother to her in this big, sudden strain on her simple wits.
Rumour says that Ruddington is all right. But Rumour sometimes has a lying tongue even when she speaks in a man's praise. I have no guarantee whatever that Lord Ruddington intends to treat Susan honourably. If he doesn't, I know I shall be a poor defender of Susan, and that I can't hope to be his match in worldly knowledge and cunning. But I don't mean to fail for want of doing my best.
Your letter of Tuesday was not one to be answered, or even acknowledged, in a hurry.
Indeed, it is only after hesitation that I decide to answer it at all. How do I know that this unaccountable flame of passion has not died down as quickly as it sprang up?
But there is a reason why, if I am to reply at all, I ought to do so to-day. To-morrow we are going to France. We shall be away a month.
You ask me if I am free to bestow my affection where I will. The answer is--Yes.
Deeply disturbed though I am by your surprising letter, I will not make a difficult situation more difficult still by anything like coyness. In fairness to both of us, I will speak as plainly and shortly and practically as I can.
There is only one direct question in your letter, and I have answered it above. But there is an indirect question also. You want to know if the affection which I have not given elsewhere can be given to Lord Ruddington. The answer is--I do not know.
You have seen _me_, but I have not seen _you_. Again, if I consent, you will remain in your old rank and station, while I must make a great and exacting and perilous change. Above all, you declare that you have the fullest possible inward light on this matter, whereas I have nothing of the kind. Thus you have a threefold advantage over me.
Reading your letter as an offer of marriage, the most I can say to-day is that, for the present, I do not refuse it.