But Kingston would not agree. He grew forcible on the new-comer’s imperfections, and would allow her no saving grace of line or carriage. She was all wrong. He insisted on the fact, proved it again and again, revelled in it, and turned it to the glorification of his wife. Gundred, for her part, made a weak defence; without quite knowing it, she drew joy and sustenance from her husband’s condemnation of her cousin. It seemed an earnest of his love’s ardour. So she merely palliated Isabel’s faults, and was more glad to challenge admiration for herself by their discovery than sorry that such blemishes should be brought to light. Sweetly and lovingly did she encourage her husband’s criticisms with her mild protests. Her line was to admit her cousin’s shortcomings, but to declare that she loved her notwithstanding. Thus she preserved the full delight of the comparison, while at the same time preserving also the proper loyalty of a Mortimer for a Mortimer. But her daylight dignity had melted; the loyalty of a Mortimer was felt to be now subordinate to that of a wife. Gundred had the happy power of making a virtue of everything she did, no matter what inconsistencies her actions might seem to involve. Husband and wife continued to make love over the faults of their cousin, and it was decided with joy that the woman whose weaknesses could be turned to such delectable account must on no account be allowed to deprive them of her company. Isabel was to live with them, to go with them to Ivescar, to serve as a perpetual whetstone for Kingston’s admiration of Gundred. Some day she would undoubtedly marry, but meanwhile Gundred’s kindness should achieve the double end of giving her cousin a home and turning her cousin’s existence to a profitable purpose. CHAPTER VIII