she understands, indeed, that sir launcelot was a very naughty young man, who should not have been received in respectable houses,—especially as he had no money to speak of,—and that sir modred and sir gawain, had they lived in this critical age, would undoubtedly have been pronounced bad form and expelled from decent clubs. and, knowing this much, she takes it for granted that the stealing of a will or more would be quite in their line: hence her speech.
"dear lady rodney, no," cries the horrified æsthetic, rather losing faith in her hostess. "i mean about his resigning lands and heritage, position, title, everything—all that a man holds most dear, for a mere sentiment. and then it was so nice of him to shoot himself, and leave her all his money. surely you must see that?"
she has actually forgotten to pose, and is leaning forward quite comfortably with her arms crossed on her knees. i am convinced she has not been so happy for years.
lady rodney is somewhat shocked, at this view of the case.
"you must understand," she says emphatically, "he did not shoot himself purposely. it was an accident,—a pure accident."
"well, yes, so they say," returns her visitor, airily who is plainly determined not to be done out of a good thing, and insists on bringing in deliberate suicide as a fit ending to this enthralling tale. "and of course it is very nice of every one, and quite right too. but there is no doubt, i think, that he loved her. you will pardon me, lady rodney, but i am convinced he adored mrs. geoffrey."
"well, he may have," admits lady rodney, reluctantly, who has grown strangely jealous of mona's reputation of late. as she speaks she colors faintly. "i must beg you to believe," she says, "that mona up to the very last was utterly unaware of his infatuation."
"why, of course; of course. one can see that at a glance. and if it were otherwise the whole story would be ruined,—would instantly become tame and commonplace,—would be, indeed," says lady lilias, with a massive wave of her large white hand, "i regret to say, an occurrence of everyday life. the singular beauty that now attaches to it would disappear. it is the fact that his passion was unrequited, unacknowledged, and that yet he was content to sacrifice his life for it, that creates its charm."
"yes, i dare say," says lady rodney, who is now wondering when this high-flown visitor will take her departure.
"it is like a romaunt of the earlier and purer days of chivalry," goes on lady lilias, in her most prosy tone. "alas! where are they now?" she pauses for an answer to this difficult question, being in her very loftiest strain of high art depression.
"eh?" says lady rodney, rousing from a day-dream. "i don't know, i'm sure; but i'll see about it; i'll make inquiries."
in thought she had been miles away, and has just come back to the present with a start of guilt at her own neglect of her guest. she honestly believes, in her confusion, that lady lilias has been making some inquiries about the secret panel, and therefore makes her extraordinary remark with the utmost bonhommie and cheerfulness.
it is quite too much for the æsthetic.
"i don't think you can make an inquiry about the bygone days of chivalry," she says, somewhat stiffly, and, having shaken the hand of her bewildered friend, and pecked gently at her cheek, she sails out of the room, disheartened, and wounded in spirit.
