The Countess made a wry mouth.
“Your curricle is in Beckley?”
“Behold!” said Jack. “Two juveniles, not half so blest as I, do from the seat regard the festive scene o’er yon park palings. They are there, even Franko and Fred. I’m afraid I promised to get them in at a later period of the day. Which sadly sore my conscience doth disturb! But what is to be done about the curricle, my Countess?”
“Mr. Raikes,” said the Countess, smiling on him fixedly, “you are amusing; but in addressing me, you must be precise, and above all things accurate. I am not your Countess!”
He bowed profoundly. “Oh, that I might say my Queen!”
The Countess replied: “A conviction of your lunacy would prevent my taking offence, though I might wish you enclosed and guarded.”
Without any further exclamations, Raikes acknowledged a superior.
“And, now, attend to me,” said the Countess. “Listen:
You go yourself, or send your friends instantly to Fallowfield. Bring with you that girl and her child. Stop: there is such a person. Tell her she is to be spoken to about the prospects of the poor infant. I leave that to your inventive genius. Evan wishes her here. Bring her, and should you see the mad captain who behaves so oddly, favour him with a ride. He says he dreams his wife is here, and he will not reveal his name! Suppose it should be my own beloved husband! I am quite anxious.”
The Countess saw him go up to the palings and hold a communication with his friends Franko and Fred. One took the whip, and after mutual flourishes, drove away.