“Anywhere; to Paris—to London.”
“No; I have arranged my plans for the summer. I am not so rich as some people. I hate change: it is so expensive.”
“But, my dear fellow—”
“Is this fair dealing with me?” continued Lumley, who, for once in his life, was really angry. “If I were an old coat you had worn for five years you could not throw me off with more nonchalance.”
“Ferrers, forgive me. My honour is concerned. I must leave this place. I trust you will remain my guest here, though in the absence of your host. You know that I have engaged the apartment for the next three months.”
“Humph!” said Ferrers, “as that is the case I may as well stay here. But why so secret? Have you seduced Madame de Ventadour, or has her wise husband his suspicions? Hein, hein!”
Maltravers smothered his disgust at this coarseness; and, perhaps, there is no greater trial of temper than in a friend’s gross remarks upon the connection of the heart.
“Ferrers,” said he, “if you care for me, breathe not a word disrespectful to Madame de Ventadour: she is an angel!”
“But why leave Naples?”
“Trouble me no more.”