"Oh, don't you be afraid of me, Marky; I'm all right!" said Cis, rising and stretching himself. "You won't mind my stamping on Mitford's feet,--accidentally, of course,--if we find him in the stalls." And the two Guardsmen started away together.
"Well," said Lord Dollamore, leaning forward towards his companion, "was I right or wrong?"
"Right! terribly right!" said Alsager, with a set rigid face.
"You would not have accepted my testimony, thinking perhaps that I had motives for exaggeration, or was prompted by an arrière pensée, in which, on my word of honour, you're wrong. But those fellows are merely types of society; and their opinion, somewhat differently expressed, is society's opinion."
"Has not Mitford's madness cooled down at all?"
"It is worse, far and away,--worse than ever--"
"And that woman?"
"Ah," said Lord Dollamore, "she's been very quiet lately, owing to her husband's death. Poor old boy! poor old Percy Hammond! But she's up in town, I understand, now; and I don't think--" and here Dollamore's crutch-handled stick was evidently whispering confidences into his master's ear,--"I don't think Master Mitford will find it all straight sailing in that quarter just now."
"How do you mean? What would induce her to change to him?"
"Well, you see, she's a widow now, with a comparatively small income; for I suspect poor old Percy knew more than he ever let on, and instructed Trivett to prepare his will accordingly. So that, besides wanting a husband, she'll want him rich; for she's one of the best hands at getting through money in England. With a husband in posse, Mitford's attentions would not do at all."