“You mean, then, that I should go without my wife?”
“Yes!” said she, coldly; “if she accompany you, her friends, her father, with whom she will of course correspond, will know of your whereabouts, and flock round you with their unsafe counsels; this is most to be avoided.”
“But how is it to be managed, Georgina; she cannot surely stop here, at an hotel too, while I am away in England?”
“I can see nothing against such an arrangement; not having had the pleasure of seeing and knowing Lady Lack-ington, I am unable to guess any valid reasons against this plan. Is she young?”
“Not twenty.”
“Handsome, of course?” said she, with a slight but supercilious curl of the lip.
“Very handsome,—beautiful,” answered he, but in a voice that denoted no rapture.
Lady Lackington mused for a moment or two; it seemed as if she were discussing within her own mind a problem, stating and answering objections as they arose, for she muttered such broken words as, “Dangerous, of course—in Rome especially—but impossible for her to go to England—all her relations—anything better than that—must make the best of it;” then turning to Beecher with an air of one whose determination was taken, she said: “She must stay with me till you return.” Before he had rallied from his surprise at this resolution, she added, “Come over to tea this evening, and let me see her.”
Beecher pressed her hand cordially, as though to imply a gratitude above words; but in reality he turned away to conceal all the emotions this new position of difficulty occasioned, merely calling out, “We 'll come very early,” as he departed.
Lizzy heard that Spicer was to be their guest at dinner, and they themselves to take tea with the Viscountess. Lackington, with equal indifference. She had scarcely seen Mr. Spicer, and was not over-pleased with her brief impression; of her Ladyship she had only heard, but even that much had not inspired her to anticipate a pleasant meeting.