“I know of none, madam,” said Grounsell, sternly. “Varnish will no more make a picture than fine manners prove a substitute for skill or industry.”
“This is really too much, sir,” said she, rising, her face now crimson with anger; “and even if all you have said prove true, reverse of fortune can bring no heavier infliction than the prospect of your intimacy and obtrusive counsels.”
“You may not need them, madam. In adversity,” said Grounsell, with a smile, “healthy stomachs get on very well without bitters.” And so saying, he bowed and left the room.
For a few moments Lady Hester sat overwhelmed by the tidings she had just heard, and then, suddenly rising, she rang the bell for her maid.
“Send Miss Dalton to me, Celestine; say I wish to speak to her immediately,” said she. “This may be the last time we shall speak to each other ere we invert our positions,” muttered she to herself. And in the working of her features might be read all the agony of the reflection.
CHAPTER XXXIX. PRATOLINO.
How like the great world is every little section of it! How full of all its passions and interests, its warring jealousies and its selfish struggles! Within the Mazzarini Palace that night were at work every emotion and sentiment which sway the wide communities of men; and hope and fear, the yearnings of ambition, and the gloomy forebodings of despair, sat beside the pillows of those who, in vain, sought sleep and forgetfulness.
Before that long night ended, Sir Stafford had learned his ruin, for it was little less. Kate had yielded, to the pressing entreaties of Lady Hester, her consent to accept Midchekoff; and, just as day was breaking, George Onslow stole to his father's bedside to see him once more, perhaps for the last time. It would be difficult to say in which of those three hearts the darkest sorrow brooded. With noiseless step and cautious gesture, George crossed the little sitting-room, and entered his father's chamber; and, without awaking the servant, who kept watch habitually without, but now had dropped off to sleep, he gained the bedside, and sat down.
The terrible tidings he had just heard were evidently working on Sir Stafford's brain, and, despite all the influence of his opiate, still engaged his faculties; for his lips continued to move rapidly, and short broken sentences fell from him incessantly. “Poor George! poor George!” he muttered from time to time, and the tears rolled down the young man's cheek as he heard them.