The other burst into tears, and hid her face between her hands.
“There's a fate in these things, my dear,” said Lady Lackington, with a slight paleness creeping over her cheek. “That's all we can say about them.”
“What have you done with that sweet place in Hampshire?”
“Dingley? It is let to Lord Mauley.”
“And you had a house in St. James's-square.”
“It is Burridge's Hotel, now.”
Lady Lackington fanned her swarthy face for some seconds, and then said, “And how did you come here?”
“We saw—that is, Twining saw—an advertisement of this new establishment in the Galignani. We had just arrived at Liége, when he discovered a vetturino returning to Milan with an empty carriage; he accordingly bargained with him to take us on here—I forget for what sum—so that we left our own carriage, and half my luggage, at the Pavilion Hotel, and set off on our three weeks' journey. We have been three weeks all but two days on the road! My maid of course refused to travel in this fashion, and went back to Paris. Courcel, his own man, rebelled too, which Twining, I must say, seemed overjoyed at, and gave him such a character for honesty in consequence, as he never could have hoped for; and so we came on, with George the footman, and a Belgian creature I picked up at the hotel, who, except to tear out my hair when she brushes it, and bruise me whenever she hooks a dress, has really no other gift under heaven.”
“And you actually came all this way by vetturino?”
Lady Grace nodded a sad assent, and sighed deeply.