With an internal groan, the outward aspect of which she had vast difficulty in masking, she said: “You are right—he has no head. Easily cajoled!”
Old Tom sat down in a chair, and laughed outright. Lady Jocelyn, in pity for the poor lady, who always amused her, thought it time to put an end to the scene.
“I hope your brother will come to us in about a week,” she said. “May I expect the favour of your company as well?”
The Countess felt her dignity to be far superior as she responded: “Lady Jocelyn, when next I enjoy the gratification of a visit to your hospitable mansion, I must know that I am not at a disadvantage. I cannot consent to be twice pulled down to my brother’s level.”
Evan’s heart was too full of its dim young happiness to speak, or care for words. The cold elegance of the Countess’s curtsey to Lady Jocelyn: her ladyship’s kindly pressure of his hand: Rose’s stedfast look into his eyes: Old Tom’s smothered exclamation that he was not such a fool as he seemed: all passed dream-like, and when he was left to the fury of the Countess, he did not ask her to spare him, nor did he defend himself. She bade adieu to him and their mutual relationship that very day. But her star had not forsaken her yet. Chancing to peep into the shop, to intrust a commission to Mr. John Raikes, who was there doing penance for his career as a gentleman, she heard Old Tom and Andrew laughing, utterly unlike bankrupts.
“Who’d have thought the women such fools! and the Countess, too!”
This was Andrew’s voice. He chuckled as one emancipated. The Countess had a short interview with him (before she took her departure to join her husband, under the roof of the Honourable Herbert Duffian), and Andrew chuckled no more.
CHAPTER XLVII.
A YEAR LATER, THE COUNTESS DE SALDAR DE SANCORVO TO HER SISTER CAROLINE
“Rome.
“Let the post-mark be my reply to your letter received through the Consulate, and most courteously delivered with the Consul’s compliments. We shall yet have an ambassador at Rome—mark your Louisa’s words. Yes, dearest! I am here, body and spirit! I have at last found a haven, a refuge, and let those who condemn me compare the peace of their spirits with mine. You think that you have quite conquered the dreadfulness of our origin. My love, I smile at you! I know it to be impossible for the Protestant heresy to offer a shade of consolation. Earthly-born, it rather encourages earthly distinctions. It is the sweet sovereign Pontiff alone who gathers all in his arms, not excepting tailors. Here, if they could know it, is their blessed comfort!