“Very likely,” said Dick Millet coolly. “That’s the lady, all the same—Miss Dymcox’s niece.”
“The Dymcoxes! the paupers! Lady Littletown’s doing! Oh, that woman!”
“You don’t like her, then, mamma?”
“Like her? Ugh!” exclaimed Lady Millet in tones of disgust; “I can soon put a stop to that, my son.” Her ladyship compressed her lips. “But it is all Gertrude’s fault, behaving so ridiculously about that John Huish. I don’t know what she may not have said to Lord Henry the other night. He was almost at her feet, and now he shall be quite. John Huish indeed!—a man going hopelessly to the bad,” Her ladyship rang. “There is no time to be lost. I must act at once. Lord Henry Moorpark must be brought back to his allegiance. Send Miss Gertrude’s maid to ask her to step down here,” continued her ladyship to the servant who answered the bell.
“What are you going to do?”
“Arrange for invitations to be sent out at once. Oh, Dick, my boy, the stories I have heard lately about Mr Huish’s gambling and dissipation are terrible! Gertrude has had a marvellous escape. It is very shocking, for your uncle and father have known the Huishes all their lives. Well?”
“Richards says, my lady, that Miss Millet went out an hour ago.”
“Out? Gone out?”
“Yes, my lady; and Richards found this note left on the dressing-table, my lady, stuck down on the cushion with a pin.”
“Great heavens!” cried Lady Millet, snatching the note from a salver; “there, leave the room.”