Lady Fanny’s quill spluttered across the paper. “You will never understand anything except your odious theories, John,” she said crossly, but she paused in her letter-writing, and gave him a vivid and animated account of her interview with Mrs. Challoner.
At the end of it, Mr. Marling said in a disgusted voice: “Vidal is shameless. He had better marry this young female and live abroad. I quite despair of him, and I feel sure that while he is allowed to run wild in England we shall none of us know a moment’s peace.”
“Marry her? And pray what do you suppose Avon would have to say to that? We can only hope and trust that something may yet be done.”
“I had better journey to Newmarket, I suppose, and inform my uncle,” said Mr. Marling gloomily.
“Oh John, don’t be so provoking!” cried his mother. “Léonie would never forgive me if I let this come to Avon’s ears. You must fetch her from the Vanes at once, and we will lay our heads together.”
“It is impossible not to feel affection for my Aunt Léonie,” announced Mr. Marling, “but have you considered, mamma, that she is capable of treating even this piece of infamy with levity?”
“It does not signify in the least. All you need do is to bear this letter to her, and bring her back to town,” said Lady Fanny imperatively.
Mr. Marling, disapproving but obedient, arrived at Lady Vane’s house near Bedford that evening. There were several people staying there, but he contrived to meet his aunt in a room apart. His countenance was so lugubrious that she asked him in quick alarm if anything were amiss?
“Aunt,” said Mr. Marling gravely, “I am the bearer of bad tidings.”
Léonie turned pale. “Monseigneur?” she faltered.