Arnold looked appealingly to Sir Patrick.  Not a word had passed between them, as yet, on the serious subject of Anne Silvester’s letter.  Sir Patrick undertook the responsibility of making the necessary excuses to Blanche.

“Forgive me,” he said, “if I ask leave to interfere with your monopoly of Arnold for a little while.  I have something to say to him about his property in Scotland.  Will you leave him with me, if I promise to release him as soon as possible?”

Blanche smiled graciously.  “You shall have him as long as you like, uncle.  There’s your hat,” she added, tossing it to her husband, gayly.  “I brought it in for you when I got my own.  You will find me on the lawn.”

She nodded, and went out.

“Let me hear the worst at once, Sir Patrick,” Arnold began.  “Is it serious?  Do you think I am to blame?”

“I will answer your last question first,” said Sir Patrick.  “Do I think you are to blame?  Yes—­in this way.  You committed an act of unpardonable rashness when you consented to go, as Geoffrey Delamayn’s messenger, to Miss Silvester at the inn.  Having once placed yourself in that false position, you could hardly have acted, afterward, otherwise than you did.  You could not be expected to know the Scotch law.  And, as an honorable man, you were bound to keep a secret confided to you, in which the reputation of a woman was concerned.  Your first and last error in this matter, was the fatal error of involving yourself in responsibilities which belonged exclusively to another man.”

“The man had saved my life.” pleaded Arnold—­“and I believed I was giving service for service to my dearest friend.”

“As to your other question,” proceeded Sir Patrick.  “Do I consider your position to be a serious one?  Most assuredly, I do!  So long as we are not absolutely certain that Blanche is your lawful wife, the position is more than serious:  it is unendurable.  I maintain the opinion, mind, out of which (thanks to your honorable silence) that scoundrel Delamayn contrived to cheat me.  I told him, what I now tell you—­that your sayings and doings at Craig Fernie, do not constitute a marriage, according to Scottish law.  But,” pursued Sir Patrick, holding up a warning forefinger at Arnold, “you have read it in Miss Silvester’s letter, and you may now take it also as a result of my experience, that no individual opinion, in a matter of this kind, is to be relied on.  Of two lawyers, consulted by Miss Silvester at Glasgow, one draws a directly opposite conclusion to mine, and decides that you and she are married.  I believe him to be wrong, but in our situation, we have no other choice than to boldly encounter the view of the case which he represents.  In plain English, we must begin by looking the worst in the face.”

Arnold twisted the traveling hat which Blanche had thrown to him, nervously, in both hands.  “Supposing the worst comes to the worst,” he asked, “what will happen?”