"Nay, Orige! Shall I tell the child to her face that her father and her mother cannot agree touching her disposal?"

"She will see it if she come hither," was the answer.

"But cannot we persuade thee, Orige?"

"Certes, nay!" replied she, with the obstinacy of feeble minds. "Truly, I blame not Rachel, for she alway opposeth her to marriage, howso it come. She stood out against Meg her trothing. But for you, Sir Thomas,--I am verily astonied that you would deny Blanche such good fortune."

"I would deny the maid nought that were for her good, Orige," said the father, sadly.

"'Good,' in sweet sooth!--as though it should be ill for her to wear a coronet on her head, and carry her pocket brimful of ducats! Where be your eyes, Sir Thomas?"

"Thine be dazed, methinks, with the ducats and the coronet, Sister," put in Rachel.

"Well, have your way," said Lady Enville, spreading out her hands, as if she were letting Blanche's good fortune drop from them: "have your way!

You will have it, I count, as whatso I may say. I pray G.o.d the poor child be not heart-broken. Howbeit, _I_ had better loved her than to do thus."

Sir Thomas was silent, not because he did not feel the taunt, but because he did feel it too bitterly to trust himself with speech. But Rachel rose from her chair, deeply stung, and spoke very plain words indeed.

"Orige Enville," she said, "thou art a born fool!"

"Gramercy, Rachel!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed her sister-in-law, as much moved out of her graceful ease of manner as it lay in her torpid nature to be.

"You can deal with the maid betwixt you two," pursued the spinster. "I will not bear a hand in the child's undoing."

And she marched out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.

"Good lack!" was Lady Enville's comment.

Without resuming the subject, Sir Thomas walked to the other door and opened it.

"Blanche!" he said, in that hard, constrained tone which denotes not want of feeling, but the endeavour to hide it.

"Blanche is in the garden, Father," said Margaret, coming out of the hall. "Shall I seek her for you?"

"Ay, bid her come, my la.s.s," said he quietly.

Margaret looked up inquiringly, in consequence of her father's unusual tone; but he gave her no explanation, and she went to call Blanche.

That young lady was engaged at the moment in a deeply interesting conversation with Don Juan upon the terrace. They had been exchanging locks of hair, and vows of eternal fidelity. Margaret's approaching step was heard just in time to resume an appearance of courteous composure; and Don Juan, who was possessed of remarkable versatility, observed as she came up to them--

"The clouds be a-gathering, Dona Blanca. Methinks there shall be rain ere it be long."

"How now, Meg?--whither away?" asked Blanche, with as much calmness as she could a.s.sume; but she was by no means so clever an actor as her companion.

"Father calleth thee, Blanche, from Mother's bower."

"How provoking!" said Blanche to herself. Aloud she answered, "Good; I thank thee, Meg."

Blanche sauntered slowly into the boudoir. Lady Enville reclined in her chair, engaged again with her comedy, as though she had said all that could be said on the subject under discussion. Sir Thomas stood leaning against the jamb of the chimney-piece, gazing sadly into the fire.

"Meg saith you seek me, Father."

"I do, my child."

His grave tone chilled Blanche's highly-wrought feelings with a vague antic.i.p.ation of coming evil. He set a chair for her, with a courtesy which he always showed to a woman, not excluding his daughters.

"Sit, Blanche: we desire to know somewhat of thee."

The leaves of the play in Lady Enville's hand fluttered; but she had just sense enough not to speak.

"Blanche, look me in the face, and answer truly:--Hath there been any pa.s.sage of love betwixt Don John and thee?"

Blanche's heart gave a great leap into her throat,--not perhaps anatomically, but so far as her sensations were concerned. She played for a minute with her gold chain in silence. But the way in which the question was put roused all her better feelings; and when the first unpleasant thrill was past, her eyes looked up honestly into his.

"I cannot say nay, Father, and tell truth."

"Well said, my la.s.s, and bravely. How far hath it gone, Blanche?"

Blanche's chain came into requisition again. She was silent.

"Hath he spoken plainly of wedding thee?"

"I think so," said Blanche faintly.

"Didst give him any encouragement thereto?" was the next question-- gravely, but not angrily asked.

If Blanche had spoken the simple truth, she would have said "Plenty."

But she dared not. She looked intently at the floor, and murmured something about "perhaps" and "a little."

Her father sighed. Her mother appeared engrossed with the play.

"And yet once tell me, Blanche--hath he at all endeavoured himself to persuade thee to accordance with his religion? Hath he given thee any gifts, such as a cross, or a relic-case, or the like?"

Blanche would have given a good deal to run away. But there was no chance of it. She must stand her ground; and not only that, but she must reply to this exceedingly awkward question.

Don Juan had given her one or two little things, she faltered, leaving the more important points untouched. Was her father annoyed at her accepting them? She had no intention of vexing him.

"Thou hast not vexed me, my child," he said kindly. "But I am troubled--grievously troubled and sorrowful. And the heavier part of my question, Blanche, thou hast not dealt withal."

"Which part, Father?"

She knew well enough. She only wanted to gain time.

"Hath this young man tampered with thy faith?"

"He hath once and again spoken thereof," she allowed.

"Spoken what, my maid?"