It was with unfeigned delight that the kind-hearted Masham welcomed under his own roof his two best and dearest friends. He had asked nobody to meet them; it was settled that they were to be quite alone, and to talk of nothing but Cherbury and Marringhurst. When they were seated at table, the Bishop, who had been detained at the House of Lords, and been rather hurried to be in time to receive his guests, turned to his servant and inquired whether any one had called.
'Yes, my lord, Lord Cadurcis,' was the reply.
'Our old companion,' said the Bishop to Lady Annabel, with a smile. 'He has called upon me twice, and I have on both occasions unfortunately been absent.'
Lady Annabel merely bowed an assent to the Bishop's remark. Venetia longed to speak, but found it impossible. 'What is it that represses me?' she asked herself. 'Is there to be another forbidden subject insensibly to arise between us? I must struggle against this indefinable despotism that seems to pervade my life.'
'Have you met Lord Cadurcis, sir?' at length asked Venetia.
'Once; we resumed our acquaintance at a dinner party one day; but I shall soon see a great deal of him, for he has just taken his seat. He is of age, you know.'
'I hope he has come to years of discretion in every sense,' said Lady
Annabel; 'but I fear not.'
'Oh, my dear lady!' said the Bishop, 'he has become a great man; he is our star. I assure you there is nobody in London talked of but Lord Cadurcis. He asked me a great deal after you and Cherbury. He will be delighted to see you.'
'I cannot say,' replied Lady Annabel, 'that the desire of meeting is at all mutual. From all I hear, our connections and opinions are very different, and I dare say our habits likewise.'
'My aunt lent us his new poem to-day,' said Venetia, boldly.