"What's this? What's this?" cried Sir Wilton, who was beaming, and good-naturedly concerned to see the tears starting to his brother's child's eyes. "Whose business have you been minding, little woman?"
"It was about Mr. Carlton," the child said with a sob. "I hear everybody saying nothing's bad enough for him—nothing—and I thought he was so good! I only asked what he had done. I won't again. Please—please let me go!"
"In an instant," said Sir Wilton, detaining her with familiarity. "You mustn't be a little goose."
"Let her go, Wilton," whispered his wife.
"Not till I've told her what Mr. Carlton has done!"
And Sir Wilton Gleed beamed more than ever upon the consternation of his ladies.
"But, Wilton——"
Lady Gleed had risen, and was even forgetting to whisper. Lydia merely looked unusually wide-awake, and prettier for once than the child under the chandelier, who was terribly disfigured by her embarrassment and distress.
"If you want to know what Mr. Carlton has done," said Sir Wilton to his niece, "it was he who set fire to the church!"