“Ah!” ejaculated Mrs. Fitzhardinge, who now fancied that she read the reason which had induced Perdita to conceal her marriage with the young man. “Then, after all, your suitor is plain Charles Hatfield, and not Viscount Marston?”
“Such is indeed the case, mother,” returned Perdita; “and I think you will agree with me that I have had a fortunate escape.”
“I do congratulate you on that point,” answered the old woman, her dissimulation continuing impenetrable. “But where have you obtained the means to hire this handsome lodging?”
“You cannot suppose that I allowed Mr. Hatfield and his son to depart without making ample provision for me!” exclaimed Perdita. “No; I displayed a too intimate acquaintance with all their family affairs to permit them thus to abandon me. Besides, the very secret of the young man’s illegitimacy—a secret which the father revealed in a moment of excitement, produced by the discussion that took place between us—that secret——”
“I understand you, Perdita,” said Mrs. Fitzhardinge: “it was necessary to purchase your silence respecting a matter that involved the good name and the honour of Lady Georgiana Hatfield. Well, have you made a profitable bargain for yourself?”
“A thousand pounds in ready money; and five hundred a year for life, on condition that I return not to England,” was the response.
“Good!” ejaculated the old woman, her eyes glistening with delight.
“And I have adopted another name, for a variety of reasons,” continued Perdita. “In the first place, having learnt from that hated Mr. Hatfield of your arrest at Dover, and the nature of the charge against you, I feared lest the whole thing should be blazoned in the newspapers——”
“Well, well,” interrupted her mother: “I understand! The name of Fitzhardinge would suit no longer. What is the new one?”
“I have taken that of Mortimer,” answered the daughter. “Laura Mortimer sounds prettily, I think?”