"Romantic old place--casques, cobwebs, and all that sort of thing," said Guilfoyle, as he handed Lady Estelle into the carriage, and took the bridle of his horse from Bob Spurrit, the groom; "I thought Burke had written the epitaph of chivalry and all belonging to it."
"Yes, but romance still exists, Mr. Guilfoyle," said Winifred, whose face was bright with smiles.
"And love too, eh, Estelle?" added Dora, laughing.
"Even in the region of Mayfair, you think?" said she.
"Yes; and wherever there is beauty, that is rarest," said I.
But she only replied by one of her calm smiles; for she had a reticence of manner which there seemed to be no means of moving.
"Talking of love and romance, I should like to know more of that pale woman we saw in church to-day," said Dora.
"Why so?" asked Guilfoyle, curtly.
"Because I saw she must have some terrible story to tell.--What was the text, Mr. Caradoc?" she asked, as we departed homewards.
"Haven't the ghost of an idea," replied Phil.