"Tell us, Sir Rowland," she begged him, "what Mr. Wilding said."

Being forced to say something, and being by nature slow-witted and
sluggish of invention, Sir Rowland was compelled, to his unspeakable
chagrin, to fall back upon the truth.

"Is not that proof?" cried Diana in triumph. "Mr. Wilding was reluctant
to quarrel with Richard. He was even ready to swallow such an affront
as that, thinking it might be offered him under a misconception of his
meaning. He plainly professed the respect that filled him for Mistress
Westmacott, and yet, and yet, Sir Rowland, you tell us that he lacked
respect!"

"Madam," cried Blake, turning crimson, "that matters nothing. It was
not the place or time to introduce your cousin s name.

"You think, Sir Rowland," put in Ruth, her air grave, judicial almost,
"that Richard behaved well?"

"As I would like to behave myself, as I would have a son of mine behave
on the like occasion," Blake protested. "But we waste words," he cried.
"I did not come to defend Richard, nor just to bear you this untoward
news. I came to consult with you, in the hope that we might find some
way to avert this peril from your brother."

"What way is possible?" asked Ruth, and sighed. "I would not... I would
not have Richard a coward."

"Would you prefer him dead?" asked Blake, sadly grave.