Lady Bassett's fainting upon his return, his exclusion from her
room, and one or two minor circumstances, had set him thinking.
The moment she saw that look, Lady Bassett, with swift tact, glided
away from the line she had intended to open, and, after merely thanking
him, and saying, "I believe you, dear," though she did not believe him,
she resumed, in a very impressive tone, "You see me worse than ever
to-day, because my mind is in great trouble. The time is come when I
must tell you a secret, which will cause you a bitter disappointment.
Why I send for you is, to see whether I cannot do something for you to
make you happy, in spite of that cruel disappointment."
Not a word from Reginald.
"Mr. Bassett--forgive me, if you can--for I am the most miserable woman
in England--you are not the heir to this place; you are not Sir Charles
Bassett's son."
"What!" shouted the young man.
Her fortitude gave way for a moment. She shook her head, in
confirmation of what she had said, and hid her burning face and
scalding tears in her white and wasted hands.
There was a long silence.
Reginald was asking himself if this could be true, or was it a maneuver
to put her favorite Compton over his head.
Lady Bassett looked up, and saw this paltry suspicion in his face.
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