“My son has probably told you that he has educated and reared a young girl, with the intention to make her Lady L’Estrange, and hereafter Countess of Lansmere.”
“Harley has no secrets from me,” said Egerton, mournfully. “This young lady has arrived in England, is here, in this house.”
“And Harley too?”
“No, she came over with Lady N———and her daughters. Harley was to follow shortly, and I expect him daily. Here is his letter. Observe, he has never yet communicated his intentions to this young person, now entrusted to my care, never spoken to her as the lover.”
Egerton took the letter and read it rapidly, though with attention.
“True,” said he, as he returned the letter: “and before he does so he wishes you to see Miss Digby and to judge of her yourself,—wishes to know if you will approve and sanction his choice.”
“It is on this that I would consult you: a girl without rank; the father, it is true, a gentleman, though almost equivocally one, but the mother, I know not what. And Harley, for whom I hoped an alliance with the first houses in England!” The countess pressed her hands convulsively together.
EGERTON.—“He is no more a boy. His talents have been wasted, his life a wanderer’s. He presents to you a chance of resettling his mind, of re-arousing his native powers, of a home besides your own. Lady Lansmere, you cannot hesitate!”
LADY LANSMERE.—“I do, I do? After all that I have hoped after all that I did to prevent—”
EGERTON (interrupting her).—“You owe him now an atonement; that is in your power,—it is not in mine.” The countess again pressed Audley’s hand, and the tears gushed from her eyes.