The marchioness threw a smile of admiration at the wise and candid friend.
“The very thing!” she exclaimed, with a fine assumption of having been taken entirely by surprise. “No one else could do this so well. I have no doubt that a few judicious words from you will be sufficient to open Mr. Hammond’s eyes. Ahem! Have the—er—the rumors about this young woman reached you?”
“What rumors, my lady? I haven’t heard anything about her.”
The marchioness raised her eyebrows, and then appealed by an eloquent look to Mr. Despencer. Despencer shook his head with the air of a good man whose righteous soul was vexed by the bare recollection of others’ iniquity.
“I see you don’t know the worst,” he remarked, gravely. “If there were nothing more against Miss Yorke than the mere fact of her being on the music-hall stage it would not matter so much. But—”
Another head-shake completed the sentence, and told the horrified alderman far more than any words could have done.
“Poor girl! let us hope it is not all true,” murmured the marchioness, with Christian compassion.
A minute or two later she rose to go. The alderman, aware from sundry creaking sounds overhead that his wife was hurrying through a frantic toilet up-stairs, remonstrated.
“Won’t your ladyship stay and have a cup of tea? I expect Mrs. Dobbin to come in every minute.”
“I am so sorry. I particularly wish to make Mrs. Dobbin’s acquaintance, but I am afraid I cannot stay another moment. Some other day, if you will allow me, I hope to come out and call on her. But you see this is quite a confidential visit. What a charming situation you have here! Quite rural, I declare! It reminds me of our place in Worcestershire.”