“Not exactly in these words, but it amounted to the same. Do give me a little wine; I am hoarse with talking.”
“Not a drop. Tell me now, where are these letters, and that journal of your grandfather's that you showed me?”
“Kelson has them all. Kelson has everything. When I believed the affair to be ended, I told him he might do what he pleased with them, if he only restored to me that colored sketch of my beautiful grandmother.”
“There, there! don't get emotional, or I have done with you. I will write to Kelson to-day. Leave all to us and don't meddle in any way.”
“That you may rely upon with confidence. No one ever yet accused me of occupying myself with anything I could possibly avoid. Do you want me any more?”
“I don't think so; but why do you ask? Where are you going?”
“I have a rendezvous this morning. I am to be three miles from this at one o'clock. I am to be at the tomb of Cecilia Metella, to meet the Lady Augusta Bramleigh, with a large party, on horseback, and we are to go somewhere and see something, and to dine, ma foi—I forget where.”
“I think, all things considered,” said Longworth, gravely, “I would advise some reserve as to intimacy with that family.”
“You distrust my discretion. You imagine that in my unguarded freedom of talking I shall say many things which had been better unsaid; is n't that so?”
“Perhaps I do; at all events, I know the situation is one that would be intolerable to myself.”