"And so you are a great admirer of Sir Henry Courtenay, Rosamond?" he said, endeavouring to maintain as calm and placid an exterior as possible.
"Rosamond is fully aware that virtue deserves respect, wherever it exists," returned Mrs. Slingsby hastily.
"And Sir Henry Courtenay is the pattern of all virtue, dear madam—is he not?" exclaimed Rosamond.
"He is a very good man, my dear, as I have frequently assured you," said the pious widow. "But let us change a conversation which does not appear agreeable to Clarence?"
"I would not for the world manifest so much selfishness," observed Villiers, coolly, "as to quit a topic which gives so much gratification to Rosamond. At the same time—as the future husband of Adelais, and therefore soon to be your brother-in-law, dear Rosamond—I must warn you against conceiving extravagant notions of the integrity and immaculate virtue of any man who belongs to what is called the Fashionable World."
"But dear Mrs. Slingsby has assured me, Clarence," ejaculated Rosamond, warmly, "that Sir Henry Courtenay is an exception to the general rule—that he is the very pattern of every thing generous and good—and that no one could err in following his advice, whatever it might be. Oh! I can assure you——"
Rosamond stopped short; for Mrs. Slingsby, seeing that her nephew's countenance was becoming purple with indignation as the artless girl thus gave vent to the enthusiasm excited in her soul by the most insidious representations,—Mrs. Slingsby, we say, had touched her with her foot beneath the table—a movement naturally construed by Rosamond into a hint to cut short her observations.
"You can retire, dear girls," said Mrs. Slingsby. "I wish to have a little conversation with Clarence."
"Do not keep us away long, dear madam," exclaimed Adelais, in a playful manner, as she rose to quit the room with her sister.
Clarence and Mrs. Slingsby were now alone together; and the position of each was a most painful one.