Lady Charlotte's house was at the distance of a stroller's half-hour across Hyde Park westward from his own. Thither he walked, a few minutes after noon, prepared for cattishness. He could fancy that he had hitherto postponed the visit rather on her account, considering that he would have to crush her if she humped and spat, and he hoped to be allowed to do it gently. There would certainly be a scene.
Lady Charlotte was at home.
'Always at home to you, Rowsley, at any hour. Mr. Eglett has driven down to the City. There 's a doctor in a square there's got a reputation for treating weak children, and he has taken down your grand-nephew Bobby to be inspected. Poor boy comes of a poor stock on the father's side. Mr. Eglett would have that marriage. Now he sees wealth isn't everything. Those Benlews are rushlights. However, Elizabeth stood with her father to have Robert Benlew, and this poor child 's the result. I wonder whether they have consciences!'
My lord prolonged the sibilation of his 'Yes,' in the way of absent- minded men. He liked little Bobby, but had to class the boy second for the present.
'You have our family jewels in your keeping, Charlotte?'
'No, I haven't,—and you know I haven't, Rowsley.' She sprang to arms, the perfect porcupine, at his opening words, as he had anticipated.
'Where are the jewels?'
'They're in the cellars of my bankers, and safe there, you may rely on it.'
'I want them.'
'I want to have them safe; and there they stop.'