“Surely you must have known. He visits her frequently.”

Marion nodded. “Yes. Yes, he does. They have been friends for years, but—”

“He will be heartbroken when I tell him what you have said.”

“There is nothing so heartbreaking to tell him, only that I think it best that the young people decide for themselves. Surely, Ingrid, even Gustav would not want a marriage forced upon him.”

“Forced,” repeated the countess, a sudden hint of vexation replacing the injury of her tone. “Is that what you think I have been trying to do, force my dear son on your daughter?”

“No, please, Ingrid, that is not what I meant.”

“I would not force Gustav to marry. Any young lady would be honored to be his bride.” Her voice rose as her feeling of affront grew. “But if your daughter does not think my son good enough for the likes—”

“Oh, Ingrid, no. It’s not like that at all,” pleaded Marion. “Both Sabina and I think Gustav is a fine young man.”

“Just not good enough to marry,” snapped the countess peevishly. “Don’t condescend to me, Marion,” she added, pulling herself up in a huff.

Marion kept her peace, looking down at her lap.

“Does your husband feel as you do?” asked the countess, curtly, emphasizing the word with obvious intent.

“I have not spoken to him about it,” replied Marion softly.

“Then I suggest you do. Perhaps he will talk some sense into you, though that is no doubt too much to expect from him.”

Still Marion remained silent, heartbroken herself, although for reasons neither the countess nor her son could have fathomed.

“Will you speak to him?”

“I don’t know, Ingrid, I—”

“I want to know if you will speak to him. I insist you do.”

“All right. I will speak to my husband,” replied Marion softly.

Her hostess sat back with the vaunted dignity of temporary victory spreading over her countenance.

“I suppose I ought to go,” said Marion at length, glancing up and attempting a smile. “Thank you, Ingrid, for the coffee and cakes. I am—I am so very sorry for this misunderstanding. I pray you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my part in it.”

Countess von Schmundt said nothing, merely gave a hinting nod of acknowledgment.

Marion rose, then left by the front door. The countess watched her go from the vantage point of her overstuffed chair. She then sat forward and helped herself to another one of the cakes, which she proceeded to eat in the silence of her own thoughts.

22 Infiltrating the Brotherhood

22

Infiltrating the Brotherhood

There were some things best handled by oneself.