"Those
adjectives, believe me, are unjust."
"I know that you think so," was the animated reply. "But I remember the
case; I have my own opinion."
"They are unjust," repeated Sir James, with emphasis. "Then it is really
the horror of the thing itself--not so much its possible effect on
social position and opinion, which decides you?"
"I ask myself--I must ask myself," said his companion, with equal
emphasis, forcing the words: "can I help Oliver to marry the
daughter--of a convicted murderess--and adulteress?"
"No!" said Sir James, holding up his hand again--"_No!"_
Lady Lucy fell back in her chair. Her unwonted color had disappeared,
and the old hand lying in her lap--a hand thin to emaciation--shook
a little.
"Is not this too painful for us both, Sir James?--can we continue it? I
have my duty to think of; and yet--I cannot, naturally, speak to you
with entire frankness. Nor can I possibly regard your view as an
impartial one. Forgive me. I should not have dreamed of referring to the
matter in any other circumstances."
"Certainly, I am not impartial," said Sir James, looking up. "You know
that, of course, well enough.
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