‘I’d like him to let me know why he was dismissed.’
‘Ah. He kept silent on that point.’
‘He let out enough.’
‘You’ve punished him, if he’s to lose a bonny sweetheart, poor devil! Your sister Sally sends you messages?’
‘We’re both of us grateful, my lord.’
He lifted the thin veil from John Edward Russett’s face with a loveless hand.
‘You remember the child bitten by a dog down in Wales. I have word from my manager there. Poor little wretch has died—died raving.’
Madge’s bosom went shivering up and sank. ‘My lady was right. She’s not often wrong.’
‘She’s looking well?’ said the earl, impatient with her moral merits:—and this communication from Wales had been the decisive motive agent in hurrying him at last to Esslemont. The next moment he heard coolly of the lady’s looking well. He wanted fervid eulogy of his wife’s looks, if he was to hear any.