"Oh, what a bed or sweets, yours must be!" interrupted I.
"I know well enough," continued Wellesley, pacing up and down the room with a feverish rapidity. "I know she went to Vauxhall with Beauclerc; but then she told me there was nothing in all this."
"Poor Beauclerc!" ejaculated I; "and what can his lordship do better than attend so sweet a creature? Come, come," I continued, "my lord! Mrs. Raffles is rich, and can do without you, kindly assisted as she is by the little parson!—Don't fret for her, nor for yourself; but, if you still love her, receive her from the hands of the good clergyman."
"Impossible!" Wellesley exclaimed. "I must reproach her with her faults, and then—she will throw the plates and dishes in my face!"
"No! Would she be so vulgar?"
"It is not vulgarity in her," said Wellesley.
"What then?"
"Nature," was his reply.
"Well then, since it is natural to break your head, which fact I do not in the least dispute, may it not be as natural to adorn it occasionally? and may it not be her nature to intrigue with Fred Beauclerc? Do not think about it my lord. Make yourself happy and comfortable, and——"
Wellesley took up his hat and ran downstairs. I followed him, laughing loudly till he got into his carriage.