“I always thought so,” she says; “and he admires her, of course?”
“No, I don't think he admires her at all. I'm certain he doesn't,” said Alice.
“Well, certainly he always does speak of her as if she belonged to Vivian Darnley,” remarks Lady May, more happily.
“So she does, and he to her, I hope,” said Alice.
“Hope?” repeated Lady May, interrogatively.
“Yes—I think nothing could be more suitable.”
“Perhaps so; you know them better than I do.”
“Yes, and I still think Uncle David intends them for one another.”
“I would have asked Mr. Longcluse,” Lady May begins, after a little interval, “to use his influence to get us good hearing-places, but he is in such disgrace—is he still, or is there any chance of his being forgiven?”
“I told you, darling, I have really nothing to forgive—but I have a kind of fear of Mr. Longcluse—a fear I can't account for. It began, I think, with that affair that seemed to me like a piece of insanity, and made me angry and bewildered; and then there was a dream, in which I saw such a horrible scene, and fancied he had murdered Richard, and I could not get it out of my head. I suppose I am in a nervous state—and there were other things; and, altogether, I think of him with a kind of horror—and I find that Martha Tansey has an unaccountable dread of him exactly as I have; and even Uncle David says that he has a misgiving about him that he can't get rid of, or explain.”