“In my despair of seeing your Ladyship I wrote a line to say—to say”—and he blundered and stopped short.
“To say you 'd wait no longer,” said she, smiling; “but how touchy you must be. Don't you know that women have the privilege of unpunctuality? don't you know it is one of the few prerogatives you men have spared them? Have you breakfasted?”
“Yes—some hours ago.”
“I forget whether I have not also. I rather think I did take some coffee. I have been very impatient for your coming. Sit here, please,” said she, pointing to an armchair beside her own sofa. “I have been very impatient indeed to see you. I want to hear all about these poor Bramleighs; you lived beside them, did n't you, and knew them all intimately? What is this terrible story of their ruin? this claim to their property? What does it mean? is there really anything in it?”
“It is somewhat of a long story,” began L'Estrange.
“Then don't tell it, I entreat you. Are you married, Mr. L'Estrange?”
“No, madam, I have not that happiness,” said he, smiling at the strange abruptness of her manner.
“Oh, I am so glad,” she cried; “so glad! I 'm not afraid of a parson, but I positively dread a parson's wife. The parson has occasionally a little tolerance for a number of things he does n't exactly like; his wife never forgives them; and then a woman takes such exact measure of another woman's meanings, and a man knows nothing about them at all: that on the whole I 'm delighted you are single, and I fervently trust you will remain so. Will you promise me as much? will you give me your word not to marry till I leave this?”
“I need scarcely pledge myself, madam, to that; my narrow fortune binds me, whether I would or not.”
“And you have your mother with you, haven't you?”