"I'm afraid" began Beresford, then paused. "I'm afraid I couldn't repeat it before you, Cecily."
Mrs. Edward looked at him sharply. Into Edward Seymour's eyes had crept a look of vindictive malice.
"It's only his lies," he said to his wife. "He's jealous of me."
Beresford looked him up and down appraisingly. The little man squirmed under the smiling scorn he saw in his cousin's eyes.
"Yes," said Beresford, "I think that must be the explanation. Good-bye," and lifting his hat he passed on, feeling refreshed as a result of the encounter.
With something like trepidation Edward Seymour followed his wife into Lady Drewitt's morning-room. It was always an ordeal for him to meet his aunt. She never hesitated to express her supreme contempt for the husband of her favourite niece.
"Dear Aunt Caroline," gushed Mrs. Edward. "We've just seen Richard. I'm afraid he has been worrying you."
"Sit down, Cecily," she commanded; and Mrs. Edward subsided into a chair. "Don't fidget, Edward," she snapped, turning irritably to her nephew.
Edward Seymour started back from the album he was fingering, as if some one had run a hat-pin into him.
"Make him sit down and be quiet, Cecily," said Lady Drewitt complainingly. At a look from his wife Edward Seymour wilted into a chair.
