"I cannot imagine how any one ever married him originally," pursued Miss Sharpe; "and yet they say that Lady Lingard was one of the handsomest women of her day."
"Oh, but," put in Clara, delighted to impart this class of information, "you know, they say that she married him out of pique, and she did not live long. I suppose he worried her into her grave."
"No," rejoined Miss Sharpe; "though he may have helped to kill her, she died of consumption."
"Did she? and her eldest son is following her. He is in a rapid decline," added Carrie. "And you say that Gilbert Lisle is really coming home?" suddenly falling back on the original topic.
"So I'm told. Mother is going to send him a card for our dance. But I never believe in him till I see him."
"How I wish we knew him," ejaculated Clara, looking at her visitor wistfully.
"Oh, you know he is not a society man, only goes to a few houses and some country places where there is good shooting; now and then you see him at a ball, or in a squash in some staircase; but he has a very fair idea of his own value, and never makes himself cheap," and Miss Sharpe smiled rather disagreeably.
"That's the way with all these rich bachelors," exclaimed Carrie. "They are so spoilt, and so abominably conceited."
"I wonder how he got on among the savages?" said Miss Sharpe.
Little did she guess that the girl who was sitting in the background, with bent head and burning face, could have answered her question then and there.