“But I am not come here to croak like an old raven,” continued Lady Lufton, when she had brought this embrace to an end. “It is probable that we all may have our sorrows; but I am quite sure of this,—that if we endeavour to do our duties honestly, we shall all find our consolation and all have our joys also. And now, my dear, let you and I say a few words about this unfortunate affair. It would not be natural if we were to hold our tongues to each other; would it?”
“I suppose not,” said Mrs. Robarts.
“We should always be conceiving worse than the truth,—each as to the other’s thoughts. Now, some time ago, when I spoke to you about your sister-in-law and Ludovic—I daresay you remember—”
“Oh, yes, I remember.”
“We both thought then that there would really be no danger. To tell you the plain truth I fancied, and indeed hoped, that his affections were engaged elsewhere; but I was altogether wrong then; wrong in thinking it, and wrong in hoping it.”
Mrs. Robarts knew well that Lady Lufton was alluding to Griselda Grantly, but she conceived that it would be discreet to say nothing herself on that subject at present. She remembered, however, Lucy’s flashing eye when the possibility of Lord Lufton making such a marriage was spoken of in the pony-carriage, and could not but feel glad that Lady Lufton had been disappointed.
“I do not at all impute any blame to Miss Robarts for what has occurred since,” continued her ladyship. “I wish you distinctly to understand that.”
“I do not see how any one could blame her. She has behaved so nobly.”
“It is of no use inquiring whether any one can. It is sufficient that I do not.”
“But I think that is hardly sufficient,” said Mrs. Robarts, pertinaciously.