‘I should suppose not. I have nothing to do with her--practically.’ ‘She comes of a very clerical family,’ pursued Mrs. Charrington composedly. ‘All the women of her family are bigoted devotees, and very shaky as to morals. The two so often go together. Then, there is a man about the place, isn’t there?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Minna dryly. ‘Yes--exactly. Signor Oriole, or some such name. Oh yes, it is an old story, common enough here, and disreputable enough.’ ‘He is not disreputable,’ said Minna stoutly. ‘I am certain of that--though why they are not married now, when there is no husband in the way, I really don’t know. It is very unfair to the girl.’ ‘It is easy enough to know why they are not married. He is, or was, a gentleman. He had a name, and a bringing up. He comes of a good family. He gave up his estate and his time, his youth and his strength, to his country. Then he got entangled with this woman some time or other, when he was wounded, or ill, or something. In a way, he is weak. She is strong all round. He was quite under her fascination for several years--not many, but several. He gave up what few rags of position and consideration remained to him, in order to be near her. A miserable despicable situation for a man of any brains or cultivation to be in. Her husband had wretched health. Everyone knew he could not live. Oriole had every intention of marrying her, and then it would have been all right. But, not long before Dietrich’s death he discovered that she could be false to her lover as well as to her husband. In spite of having, as he gave out, cast away every shred of the condition of _gentil uomo_--outwardly, at any rate--there was still a remnant or two of prejudice left within. He could not swallow that pill. He would not marry her. He did not desert her. That was his mistake and his weakness. She could have got on perfectly well without him--such people can always get on, somehow, because they have no scruples and no feelings, only passions and greeds of different kinds. They say he is desperately fond of the child. I don’t know how that may be. He has paid dearly enough for his slip, years ago. His life has been simply ruined, neither more nor less.’ ‘Yes, I know,’ said Minna, as composedly as she could. She did not betray the force of the shock with which the news of the true state of things had struck her. It had not occurred to her to imagine it for herself, but now that she heard it thus philosophically set forth by an outsider, the truth of it came irresistibly to the front. That, certainly, accounted for everything. It made the situation more tragic, but to a certain extent it relieved her mind, because it vindicated Signor Oriole. ‘I heard at the same time some talk of an engagement between the child and a rich foreigner,’ continued Mrs. Charrington. ‘I did not quite believe it, but from what you say there appears to be some truth in it.’