“I did mention it to you, Alfred.”
“I remember you said something about going to Mowbray, and that you wanted to go to several places. But there is nothing I hate so much as shopping. It bores me more than anything. And you are so peculiarly long when you are shopping. But singing, and beautiful singing in a Catholic chapel by a woman; perhaps a beautiful woman, that is quite a different thing, and I should have been amused, which nobody seems ever to think of here. I do not know how you find it, Lady Bardolf, but the country to me in August is a something;”—and not finishing his sentence, Mr Mountchesney gave a look of inexpressible despair.
“And you did not see this singer?” said Mr Hatton, sidling up to Lady Maud, and speaking in a subdued tone.
“I did not, but they tell me she is most beautiful; something extraordinary; I tried to see her, but it was impossible.”
“Is she a professional singer?”
“I should imagine not; a daughter of one of the Mowbray people I believe.”
“Let us have her over to the Castle, Lady de Mowbray,” said Mr Mountchesney.
“If you like,” replied Lady de Mowbray, with a languid smile.
“Well at last I have got something to do,” said Mr Mountchesney. “I will ride over to Mowbray, find out the beautiful singer, and bring her to the Castle.”