“Ah, me; I am a great martyr,” said her ladyship, sobbing softly, and growing more confiding. “I don’t know what I should do without you, Justine. Every one fights against me.”
“Poor, poor milady,” cried Justine, sympathetically.
“Does Miss Tryphie ever talk to you about Captain Bellman?”
“She said once he was vairy handsome,” said Justine.
“Yes, yes, very, and so well connected, Justine. They say he has been rather wild; but a man of birth may make mistakes, Justine; they are never the serious errors of a plebeian.”
“No, milady, never,” said the maid. “Just a few more drops, milady.”
“Thanks, Justine, thanks,” sighed her ladyship, partaking of some more lavender upon sugar. “That Mr Melton never calls now, I think?”
“No, milady, never.—Ah, quel mensonge!” she added to herself.
“And his dog does not come?”
“No, milady, I have not seen it for a month.”