“I am afraid not.”
“Then what is it that makes her the most popular woman in London?”
“Upon my word, I can’t tell you. I like her because I knew poor O’Hara.”
“And is it so pleasant to talk to her of your dead friend?” insinuated Lady Gwendolyn slyly.
“I never heard her mention her husband’s name in my life.”
“No? Really, you quite astonish me! Then you can’t like her for his sake—you must like her for her own. And I will tell you why, shall I?”
“I am all attention.”
“Well, she flatters you so skilfully that you don’t even know she is doing it, at the same time that you feel infinitely satisfied with yourself. I don’t mean you, individually, Colonel Dacre; but her acquaintances generally.”
“At any rate, no one can accuse you of a like fault, Lady Gwendolyn,” he said, with a faint smile, that showed pain as well as amusement.
“No; I am perfectly downright—too much so, Lady Teignmouth says; but then there is one thing I would scorn to do.”