IN THE morning of the young Duke’s departure for Twickenham, as Miss Dacre and Lady Caroline St. Maurice were sitting together at the house of the former, and moralising over the last night’s ball, Mr. Arundel Dacre was announced.
‘You have just arrived in time to offer your congratulations, Arundel, on an agreeable event,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘Lord St. Maurice is about to lead to the hymeneal altar——’
‘Lady Sophy Wrekin; I know it.’
‘How extremely diplomatic! The attaché in your very air. I thought, of course, I was to surprise you; but future ambassadors have such extraordinary sources of information.’
‘Mine is a simple one. The Duchess, imagining, I suppose, that my attentions were directed to the wrong lady, warned me some weeks past. However, my congratulations shall be duly paid. Lady Caroline St. Maurice, allow me to express——’
‘All that you ought to feel,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘But men at the present day pride themselves on insensibility.’
‘Do you think I am insensible, Lady Caroline?’ asked Arundel.
‘I must protest against unfair questions,’ said her Ladyship.
‘But it is not unfair. You are a person who have now seen me more than once, and therefore, according to May, you ought to have a perfect knowledge of my character. Moreover, you do not share the prejudices of my family. I ask you, then, do you think I am so heartless as May would insinuate?’
‘Does she insinuate so much?’