"She is everything to them all; niece and grand-niece, and first cousin and grand-daughter. Her father was the fourth brother, and as she was one of six her share of the family wealth is small. Those Pallisers are very peculiar, and I doubt whether she ever saw the old duke. She has no father or mother, and lives when she is at home with a married sister, about seventy years older than herself, Mrs. Attenbury."
"I remember Mrs. Attenbury."
"Of course you do. Who does not? Adelaide was a child then, I suppose. Though I don't know why she should have been, as she calls herself one-and-twenty now. You'll think her pretty. I don't. But she is my great new friend, and I like her immensely. She rides to hounds, and talks Italian, and writes for the Times."
"Writes for the Times!"
"I won't swear that she does, but she could. There's only one other thing about her. She's engaged to be married."
"To whom?"
"I don't know that I shall answer that question, and indeed I'm not sure that she is engaged. But there's a man dying for her."
"You must know, if she's your friend."
"Of course I know; but there are ever so many ins and outs, and I ought not to have said a word about it. I shouldn't have done so to any one but you. And now we'll go in and have some tea, and go to bed."
"Go to bed!"