"I am not in the least jealous of her, papa. I don't know anyone that I think so ugly. She is a nasty made-up thing. But pray don't talk about her anymore." Then the Dean almost knew that Mary had discovered something, and was too noble to tell a story against her husband.
The day but one before she was to leave town Mrs. Montacute Jones came to her. She had seen her kind old friend once or twice since the catastrophe at the ball, but always in the presence of other persons. Now they were alone together. "Well, my dear," said Mrs. Jones, "I hope you have enjoyed your short season. We have all been very fond of you."
"You have been very kind to me, Mrs. Jones."
"I do my best to make young people pleasant, my dear. You ought to have liked it all, for I don't know anybody who has been so much admired. His Royal Highness said the other night that you were the handsomest woman in London."
"His Royal Highness is an old fool," said Mary, laughing.
"He is generally thought to be a very good judge in that matter. You are going to keep the house, are you not?"
"Oh, yes; I think there is a lease."
"I am glad of that. It is a nice little house, and I should be sorry to think that you are not coming back."
"We are always to live here half the year, I believe," said Mary. "That was agreed when we married, and that's why I go away now."
"Lord George, I suppose, likes the country best?"