But what has that to do with them?"
"That man Morris."
She stopped short, and Benham nodded for her to go on.
"Her father," said Lady Marayne.
"But who was Morris? Really, mother, I don't remember."
"He was sentenced to seven years--ten years--I forget. He had done
all sorts of dreadful things. He was a swindler. And when he went
out of the dock into the waiting-room-- He had a signet ring with
prussic acid in it-- . . ."
"I remember now," he said.
A silence fell between them.
Benham stood quite motionless on the hearthrug and stared very hard
at the little volume of Henley's poetry that lay upon the table.
He cleared his throat presently.
"You can't go and see them then," he said. "After all--since I am
going abroad so soon-- . . . It doesn't so very much matter."
10
To Benham it did not seem to be of the slightest importance that
Amanda's father was a convicted swindler who had committed suicide.
Never was a resolved and conscious aristocrat so free from the
hereditary delusion. Good parents, he was convinced, are only an
advantage in so far as they have made you good stuff, and bad
parents are no discredit to a son or daughter of good quality.
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