Aveline and Miss Jamblin had been sent to London for a change, under the charge of the good-tempered and vivacious Lady Marvlynn, so that the master of Broxbridge was without the companionship of the young ladies or the gouvernante.
He consented to part with them upon the condition that their visit to the metropolis was not of too protracted a duration.
To say the truth, Aveline did pretty much as she liked, and her grandfather did not oppose her in anything but the one grand wish of his life—this being a divorce from her low-born husband, as he was pleased to term him.
Mr. Chicknell gave his patron a succinct account of those circumstances with which the reader is already acquainted.
The earl was thunderstruck.
He had never for a moment counted on such an issue, but in the goblet of pleasure he drained there were a few drops of bitterness.
His pride was wounded.
Although he affected and, indeed, did treat the very name of Gatliffe with unmitigated disgust and contempt, he did not like the idea of his being so faithless to even the memory of his wife.
To take up with a woman of Laura Stanbridge’s class was most reprehensible.
“He’s a low-bred hound, and in saying this I have said all,” cried the earl. “I always told you so, Chicknell, and we have had many wrangles—if I may so term them—upon this subject. However, the worst is over now, and we have every reason to be thankful that the fellow has acted in such a discreditable way. Nevertheless his conduct rather surprises me.”