climbed in three years--how high!"

Soolsby's anger was not lessened. "Pooh! Pooh! He is an Earl. An Earl
has all with him at the start--name, place, and all. But look at our
Egyptian! Look at Egyptian David--what had he but his head and an honest
mind? What is he? He is the great man of Egypt. Tell me, who helped
Egyptian David? That second-best lordship yonder, he crept about coaxing
this one and wheedling that. I know him--I know him. He wheedles and
wheedles. No matter whether 'tis a babe or an old woman, he'll talk, and
talk, and talk, till they believe in him, poor folks! No one's too small
for his net. There's Martha Higham yonder. She's forty five. If he
sees her, as sure as eggs he'll make love to her, and fill her ears with
words she'd never heard before, and 'd never hear at all if not from him.
Ay, there's no man too sour and no woman too old that he'll not blandish,
if he gets the chance."

As he spoke Faith shut her eyes, and her fingers clasped tightly
together--beautiful long, tapering fingers, like those in Romney's
pictures. When he stopped, her eyes opened slowly, and she gazed before
her down towards that garden by the Red Mansion where her lifetime had
been spent.

"Thee says hard words, Soolsby," she rejoined gently. "But maybe thee is
right." Then a flash of humour passed over her face. "Suppose we ask
Martha Higham if the Earl has 'blandished' her. If the Earl has
blandished Martha, he is the very captain of deceit. Why, he has himself
but twenty-eight years. Will a man speak so to one older than himself,
save in mockery? So, if thee is right in this, then--then if he speak
well to deceive and to serve his turn, he will also speak ill; and he
will do ill when it may serve his turn; and so he may do our Davy ill,