"They prove the charge to the hilt." The hawk's eyes of Charlotte contracted ominously.
"What charge?—if you don't mind stating it explicitly."
"Mrs. Sanderson has used her position here to make her niece known to the future head of this house, she has connived at their intimacy, she appears to have fostered it in every way."
"I don't think you are entitled to say that, Charlotte." The Duke spoke slowly and pointedly, and then he turned to Harriet with an air of such delicate politeness that it added fuel to the flame which was withering her traducers. "If it is not asking too much, Mrs. Sanderson," he said, with a smile of grave kindness, "I should personally be very grateful if you would be wicked enough to defend yourself. Let me say at once that I am far from accepting the construction Lady Wargrave has placed on the matter. But her zeal for a time-honored institution is so great that if her judgment is outrun, it seems only kind to forgive her."
Such oblique but resounding blows in the sconce of Charlotte filled her with a fury hard to hold in check.
"What defense is possible?" Her voice was like a crane. "The facts are there to look at. Mrs. Sanderson's niece has extracted a promise of marriage."
The Duke turned to Harriet rather anxiously.
"I sincerely hope Lady Wargrave has been misinformed," he said.
Harriet flushed.
"I only know"—speech for her had become almost intolerably difficult—"that Mr. Dinneford has asked my brother-in-law's consent to his marrying her."
