"What route do you take, Lionel?" enquired his friend.
"You are aware I have a commission for Clayton, at Florence, so must first go thither, thence to Bologna, then to Turin, Paris, Calais, Dover and London."
"Shall I ring for Somers, godmother dear, to bring your cloak and bonnet, while I go and don my wraps?"
"Thank you, yes."
Trevalyon, now going quickly to do his friend's side, said:
"I have but a moment, but I want you to know that this mischief is brewing for me at the Hall, and it has rapidly fermented; 'society,' tasting of its bubbles."
"I was sure of it, Lionel, and it is the brew of that woman and Major
Delrose."
"Yes; and their aim is so to damage my reputation that I cannot gain the woman, and the only one I have ever longed for as my own loved wife."
"Heaven grant that there machiavelian manoevres may end in failure."
Here the sweet face and small white plush bonnet, scarlet strings and feathers appear at the door, so a truce to confidentials.