"You can't altogether blame them," Ralph said soothingly. "Probably they took you to be what that drunken ruffian yonder would call 'a good sort.' They judged you by him, and I am quite sure that Mr. George Dashwood did all he could----" "He didn't," Lady Dashwood flashed out. "He is a coward and a poltroon. He is not worthy to be the father of a girl like Mary. Fancy him cringing and fawning on a man like that for the sake of a good home and the dainty food that he loves better than his independence! But I don't blame him and the man who calls himself Sir Vincent Dashwood so much as I blame _you_." "_Me!_" Ralph asked in some surprise, "what have I done?" "Everything. You have brought all this about. If it had not been for you, this disgraceful scene could not have happened. For purposes of your own, you have placed a puppet on the throne at Dashwood--a disgraceful, drunken image, that is not worthy to be called a man. Why do you do it?" "I think you know perfectly well," Ralph, said gently. "I am very, very sorry; I could not have foreseen anything like this. Won't you forgive me?" All the hot, rebellious anger died out of Lady Dashwood's heart. "I must, when you speak to me like that," she said. "When you look at me with your father's eyes, and speak to me with his voice, I could find it in me to forgive you anything. But you must own that it is very hard to bear, Ralph. When you came back here like a figure from the grave, I began to hope that God was going to be good to me in my declining years. I have sinned heavily, but I have paid the penalty. When I saw you that day at the fire I recognised you at once, as Slight had done. My prayers had been answered, and one of my flesh and blood had come back to claim the old inheritance. And you had come to free me from the hateful attentions of the impostor who so grievously insulted me tonight. But you did nothing of the sort; you tried to hide yourself from me as if you were guilty of something shameful." "But, my dear grandmother, I told you why," Ralph protested. "I had to work out my life's romance in a way that seemed best to me. And Fate played into my hands--the little affair of the silver matchbox forced the so-called Dashwood to speak. Still, it will not be for long. I saw the family solicitors yesterday--are by no means disposed to let matters remain as they are. Have you any idea as to the real identity of the man who calls himself Sir Vincent Dashwood?" "I _had_," Lady Dashwood said. "But I was certain yesterday. I saw his mother. Oh, but yesterday was a day of surprises." "His mother," Ralph cried. "Is she still alive? She was Agnes Edgerton, sister of my father's first wife. Is not that so?"