'We are so much indebted to him,' said Rosamund. 'His love of Nevil surpasses ours. Poor man! poor man! At least we may now hope the blow will be spared him which would have carried off his life with Nevil's. I have later news of Nevil than you.'
'Good, of course?'
'Ah me! the pleasure of the absence of pain. He is not gone.'
Lord Romfrey liked her calm resignation.
'There's a Mr. Lydiard,' he said, 'a friend of Nevil's, and a friend of
Louise Devereux's.'
'Yes; we hear from him every four hours,' Rosamund rejoined. 'Mention him to her before me.'
'That's exactly what I was going to tell you to do before me,' said her husband, smiling.
'Because, Everard, is it not so?—widows . . . and she loves this gentleman!'
'Certainly, my dear; I think with you about widows. The world asks them to practise its own hypocrisy. Louise Devereux was married to a pipe; she's the widow of tobacco ash. We'll make daylight round her.'
'How good, how kind you are, my lord! I did not think so shrewd! But benevolence is almost all-seeing: You said you spoke to Dr. Shrapnel twice. Was he . . . polite?'