“I'll never see her again—I'll never set eyes on her,” muttered Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“I shouldn't wonder, mamma, if that anonymous letter was written by herself,” said Caroline. “She never forgave Mr. Cashel for not specially inviting her; and this, I'm almost sure, was the way she took to revenge herself.”
“So it was,” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, eagerly seizing at the notion. “Hush, take care Livy doesn't hear you.”
“As for the yacht expedition, it was just the kind of thing Lady Kilgoff was ready for. She is dying to be talked of.”
“And that poor, weak creature, Cashel, will be so flattered by the soft words of a peeress, he'll be intolerable ever after.”
“Aunt Fanny—Aunt Fanny!” sighed Miss Kennyfeck, with a mournful cadence.
“If I only was sure—that is, perfectly certain—that she wrote that letter about Cashel—But here comes your father—take Olivia, and leave me alone.”
Miss Kennyfeck assisted her sister from the sofa, and led her in silence from the room, while Mr. Kennyfeck sat down, with folded hands and bent down head, a perfect picture of dismay and bewilderment.
“Well,” said his wife, after a reasonable interval of patient expectation that he would speak—“well, what have you to say for yourself now, sir?”
The poor solicitor, who never suspected that he was under any indictment, looked up with an expression of almost comic innocence.