“I pity the elder girl,” said Lady Janet; “she had a far better tone about her than the rest.”
“And that dear, kind old creature, the aunt. It is said that but for her care this would have happened long ago,” said Mrs. Malone.
“She was, to my thinking, the best of them,” echoed the blond lady; “so discreet, so quiet, and so unobtrusive.”
“What could come of their pretension?” said a colonel's widow, with a very large nose and a very small pension; “they attempted a style of living quite unsuited to them! The house always full of young men, too.”
“You would n't have had them invite old ones, madam,” said Lady Janet, with the air of rebuke the wife of a commander-in-chief can assume to the colonel's relict.
“It's a very sad affair, indeed,” summed up Mrs. White, who, if she had n't quarrelled with Mr. Howie, would have given him the whole narrative for the “Satanist.”
“What a house to be sure! There's Lady Kilgoff on one side—”
“What of her, my Lady?” said the blonde.
“You did n't hear of Lord Kilgoff overtaking her to-day in the wood with Sir Harvey Upton?—hush! or he 'll hear us. The poor old man—you know his state of mind—snatched the whip from the coachman, and struck Sir Harvey across the face. They say there's a great welt over the cheek!”
Mrs. White immediately arose, and, under pretence of looking for a book, made a circuit of the room in that part where Sir Harvey Upton was lounging, with his head on his hand.