"
"We never thought he did catch it," returned Hartledon. "It was not
prevalent at the time; and, strange to say, none of the other children
took it, nor any one else in the house."
"Then what gave it him?" sharply uttered the dowager.
What Val answered was spoken in a low tone, and she caught one word only,
Providence. She gave a growl, and continued.
"At any rate, he's gone; and you have now no pretext for refusing me
Maude. I shall take her, and bring her up, and you must make me a liberal
allowance for her."
"I shall not part with Maude," said Val, in quiet tones of decision.
"You can't refuse her to me, I say," rejoined the dowager, nodding her
head defiantly; "she's my own grandchild."
"And my child. The argument on this point years ago was unsatisfactory,
Lady Kirton; I do not feel disposed to renew it. Maude will remain in her
own home."
"You are a vile man!" cried the dowager, with an inflamed face. "Pass me
the wine."
He filled her glass, and left the decanter with her. She resumed.
"One day, when I was with Maude, in that last illness of hers in London,
when we couldn't find out what was the matter with her, poor dear, she
wrote you a letter; and I know what was in it, for I read it. You had
gone dancing off somewhere for a week."
"To the Isle of Wight, on your account," put in Lord Hartledon, quietly;
"on that unhappy business connected with your son who lives there.
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