Chapter 10

Poor Adelaide's silence was fully explained later--practically
explained when in June, returning to London, I was honoured by this
admirable woman with an early visit. As soon as she arrived I
guessed everything, and as soon as she told me that darling Ruth
had been in her house nearly a month I had my question ready.
"What in the name of maidenly modesty is she staying in England
for?"

"Because she loves me so!" cried Adelaide gaily. But she hadn't
come to see me only to tell me Miss Anvoy loved her: that was
quite sufficiently established, and what was much more to the point
was that Mr. Gravener had now raised an objection to it. He had
protested at least against her being at Wimbledon, where in the
innocence of his heart he had originally brought her himself; he
called on her to put an end to their engagement in the only proper,
the only happy manner.

"And why in the world doesn't she do do?" I asked.

Adelaide had a pause. "She says you know."

Then on my also hesitating she added: "A condition he makes."

"The Coxon Fund?" I panted.

"He has mentioned to her his having told you about it."

"Ah but so little! Do you mean she has accepted the trust?"

"In the most splendid spirit--as a duty about which there can be no
two opinions." To which my friend added: "Of course she's
thinking of Mr. Saltram."

I gave a quick cry at this, which, in its violence, made my visitor
turn pale. "How very awful!"

"Awful?"

"Why, to have anything to do with such an idea one's self."

"I'm sure YOU needn't!" and Mrs. Mulville tossed her head.

"He isn't good enough!" I went on; to which she opposed a sound
almost as contentious as my own had been. This made me, with
genuine immediate horror, exclaim: "You haven't influenced her, I
hope!" and my emphasis brought back the blood with a rush to poor
Adelaide's face. She declared while she blushed--for I had
frightened her again--that she had never influenced anybody and
that the girl had only seen and heard and judged for herself. HE
had influenced her, if I would, as he did every one who had a soul:
that word, as we knew, even expressed feebly the power of the
things he said to haunt the mind. How could she, Adelaide, help it
if Miss Anvoy's mind was haunted? I demanded with a groan what
right a pretty girl engaged to a rising M.P. had to HAVE a mind;
but the only explanation my bewildered friend could give me was
that she was so clever. She regarded Mr. Saltram naturally as a
tremendous force for good. She was intelligent enough to
understand him and generous enough to admire.

"She's many things enough, but is she, among them, rich enough?" I
demanded. "Rich enough, I mean, to