"A most accurate description. And there is another friend,—one who ought to be your dearest: I allude to Lady Stafford."
"Lady Stafford!"
"Yes, your wife. You don't seem over and above pleased at my news."
"Is a man always pleased at his wife's unexpected appearance?" asks Sir Penthony, recovering himself with a rather forced laugh. "I had no idea she was here. I—— Is she a friend of yours?"
"The dearest friend I have. I know no one," declares her ladyship, fervently, "I love so fondly."
"Happy Lady Stafford! I almost think I would change places with her this moment. At all events, whatever faults she may possess, she has rare taste in friends."
"You speak disparagingly. Has she a fault?"
"The greatest a woman can have: she lacks that one quality that would make her a 'joy forever.'"
"Your severity makes you unkind. And yet, do you know she is greatly liked. Nay, she has been loved. Perhaps when you come to know her a little better (I do not conceal from you that I have heard something of your story), you will think more tenderly of her. Remember, 'beauty is only skin deep.'"
"Yes,"—with a light laugh,—"But 'ugliness goes to the bone.'"