Her breast heaved, and the wave burst: but her restraining of tears froze
her speech.

'Victor! Our Nesta! Mr. Sowerby is unable to explain. And how the Miss
Duvidneys! . . . At that Brighton!'--The voice he heard was not his
darling's deep rich note, it had dropped to toneless hoarseness: 'She has
been permitted to make acquaintance--she has been seen riding with--she
has called upon--Oh! it is one of those abandoned women. In her house!
Our girl! Our Nesta! She was insulted by a man in the woman's house.
She is talked of over Brighton. The mother!--the daughter! And grant me
this--that never was girl more carefully . . . never till she was
taken from me. Oh! do not forget. You will defend me? You will say,
that her mother did with all her soul strive . . . It is not a rumour.
Mr. Sowerby has had it confirmed.' A sob caught her voice.

Victor's hands caressed to console: 'Dudley does not propose to . . ?'

'Nesta must promise . . . But how it happened? How! An acquaintance
with--contact with!--Oh! cruel!' Each time she ceased speaking, the
wrinkles of a shiver went over her, and the tone was of tears coming, but
she locked them in.

'An accident!' said Victor; 'some misunderstanding--there can't be harm.
Of course, she promises--hasn't to promise. How could a girl
distinguish! He does not cast blame on her?'

'Dear, if you would go down to Dartrey to-morrow. He knows:--it is over
the Clubs there; he will tell you, before a word to Nesta. Innocent,
yes! Mr. Sowerby has not to be assured of that. Ignorant of the
character of the dreadful woman? Ah, if I could ever in anything think