"Forgive me if I don't altogether agree." In spite of himself he was being conquered by this largeness and magnanimity. So fully was he prepared for something else that he was now rather at a loss. "In any case," he said, "the fault hardly seems to be yours."
"It is kind of you to say that." A pair of wide eyes, long-lashed and luminous, which seemed oddly familiar, raked him with a wonderful candor. "But I seem to be giving enormous trouble to others—trouble it would have been easy to spare them."
Again his Grace dissented. Surprise was growing, along with that other, that even more inconvenient emotion which was now driving him hard.
"Don't overlook your own side of the case," he was constrained to say.
"Oh, yes, there's that—but one doesn't like to insist on it."
"Why not?"
"The other is so much more important."
She felt his deep eyes searching hers, but except a little veiled amusement, they had nothing to conceal.
"I am by no means sure that it is." To his own clear annoyance, the fatal instinct for justice began to take a hand in his overthrow. "As the matter has been represented to me there is no doubt, if you took it to a court of law, that you would get substantial damages."
"As if one could!" She suddenly crimsoned.
"If I have hurt you in any way, I beg your pardon," he said at once with a simple humility for which she honored him. "After all, if you decide not to marry my relation you give up a position which most people allow to be exceptional."
