"You mean that Mr. Francis wished to prevent their engagement. Is that bald enough?"
"Yes; that will do. It is a possibility which must not be overlooked. He has failed, but I see no reason to suppose that anything has since happened which reconciles him to their marriage. His letter to Harry in answer to the announcement of his engagement was charming, perfectly charming. But so was his letter, in which he urged him to be brave and cut Evie out of his life with a firm hand. So also, no doubt, was his manner when he begged Evie to overlook Harry's Platonic little walk with a dairymaid."
Geoffrey felt vaguely uneasy. Now that these things were said to him, he knew that somewhere in the very inmost recesses of his brain there had lurked for some time a feeling of which he was ashamed--a secret, unaccountable distrust of this kind old man. It had been emphasized by the curious adventure of Dr. Armytage's door, and since then it had grown more alert, more ready to put up its head.
"Now why," continued Lady Oxted, speaking rapidly, "should he wish to separate the two? You would have thought--Harry thought and still thinks--that by this marriage Mr. Francis will feel that the old stain of suspicion that for so long had been on his name, ever since the Harmsworth affair, will be removed. And Harry has good reason for thinking so: Mr. Francis himself told him that Evie's coming to Vail was the happiest thing that had happened to him for years. Why, then, should they not marry?"
"Perhaps Mr. Francis finds that the continual revival of those memories, which Miss Aylwin calls up, is too painful," said Geoffrey.
"Does that seem to you reasonable?" asked Lady Oxted, "and if reasonable, can mortal mind invent a more awful piece of selfishness?"
"No, it does not seem to me reasonable," he said; "I recant that."
"Ah! you are monstrous," said Geoffrey suddenly; "you suggest monstrous things."
"I have suggested nothing. I want to hear your suggestion. What is it, Geoffrey?"
"You mean that Mr. Francis does not want Harry to marry at all. You remember that he is Harry's heir. Do you not see how absurd such an idea is? Who ever heard of an old man, over seventy, trying to make his grand-nephew a celibate? You might as well hope to rear a child who should never see a fire or a book."