“It is nothing new for Miss Archer to be tired,” interrupted Mr. Wainbridge. “Did she see a ghost? She saw one, I remember, on a Sunday afternoon.”
“And you are base,” said Launa. “I will not invite you to any of my parties to meet Sylvia. You have thus betrayed my tenderest feelings and my tears. For what paper was your interview?”
“The _Signal_, I told you. Now, don’t roll your eyes, Launa; you are not shocked, I know. What could I do? You see you would not introduce me to her; Wainbridge said he could not; Mrs. Herbert is so much married _à la mode_, that I, a young and innocent young man, cannot risk my slender reputation in her company. Then I thought of the _Signal_. Their leave was easily procured; they have no intention of paying me, and they will publish her photograph some day. Her mother was alarmed when she heard why I had come. I trotted out my cousin, Sir Anthony, and you, Launa. We had tea, and I am going again soon; perhaps they may come with me some Sunday afternoon somewhere.”
“Indefinite,” said Mr. Wainbridge, “but convincing of your affection for her. Take care.”
“Tell me about Sylvia,” said Mr. George. “Wainbridge, you know her well. Isn’t there a story attached to her?”
“When the Coopers were well off, only two years ago, Sylvia met Lord Fairmouth. He is in Africa, or somewhere.”
“You are quite safe, I know; but that young ruffian, will he tell?”
“Tell,” repeated Mr. George. “I long to kick you down the stairs, Mr. Wainbridge. Go on.”
“Sylvia did not know he was married, and they met every day. He loved her. His wife was a woman who—”
“Who belonged to every and any man as well as to him,” suggested Mr. George.
“Sylvia, then,” continued Mr. Wainbridge, “was very religious. She did not believe in marriage after divorce. Fairmouth could easily have got rid of his wife; but Sylvia was firm, so he left her and then went away. She probably sent him.”
“How terrible!” said Launa. “Could they not have met sometimes? Might not his love have been a comfort to her?”
“Moralists say not,” said Mr. Wainbridge.
“Such love cannot be real,” said Launa. “I used to think love was immortal.”
“It would be immortal,” said Mr. George. “Too pure for this earth.”
“Almost thou persuadest me that such things can be,” said Mr. George.