"Sylvia, let me implore you! A little moderation! A little charity! Hortensia has been foolish.

She confesses so much, herself.

Yet, when all is said, 'tis not she is to blame." "Am I ?" "My love! Was it suggested ?" "I marvel it was not.

Indeed, I marvel! Oh, Hortensia is not to blame, the sweet, pure dove! What is she, then ?" "To be pitied, ma'am," said his lordship, stirred to sudden anger, "that she should have lent an ear to your disreputable son." "My son?
My son ?" cried her ladyship, her voice more and more strident, her face flushing till the rouge upon it was put to shame, revealed in all its unnatural hideousness.

"And is he not your son, my lord ?" "There are moments," he answered hardily, "when I find it difficult to believe." It was much for him to say, and to her ladyship, of all people.