“Don’t cry, my dear, it doesn’t suit your character, and you only do it because you’re weak and worn out, and God knows I don’t wonder at it! As to asking him to forgive you, you would do no such thing—don’t tell me!—until you were convinced he had done nothing to be forgiven for. And now,” continued her ladyship, again diving into her pocket after the absent snuff-box, “I’ve come to tell you that I’ve begun to think he may not have been quite so bad as I thought. Mind—I know nothing more yet: I only make an inference. You know I pounced down upon that clever little wretch, the Marquise; and from her manner, and some things she said, my suspicions about her and that husband of yours were rather confirmed than disconcerted. So, rather than have you left alone in your house for people to snigger at, I persuaded you to come to me for a few days, until we could know exactly how matters stood. Poor child! You were in a state of mind not to care what became of you; and when I met your husband, that same afternoon, I had half a—”
“You met him, Lady Flanders? You never told me that!” exclaimed Marion, looking up and flushing.
“I know I didn’t: why should I? I had no doubt he was on the way to that Marquise; and it was the next day, as I tell you, that I pounced down on her. Well, then ... you shouldn’t interrupt me, my dear; and—I wish you’d touch that bell: I think I must have left my snuff-box on my dressing-table.”
The box was brought, and her ladyship took a copious pinch and proceeded. “Last night I heard something that disturbed and surprised me a good deal, and the source it came from was unimpeachable. I saw Mr. Merton Fillmore, and he told me that Madame Desmoines is going to bring an action against Mr. Lancaster to recover the money Mr. Grantley left him. At first I didn’t believe it, but he was quite serious, and said that he was her solicitor in the matter. I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself:—but ’tis no use scolding men like him, they only bow and grin, and that’s an end of it! I asked him why she hadn’t claimed it before, and he tried to make up some nonsense about her having only just received proof that she was entitled to it. I told him it was a scandalous piece of business, and that he ought to have known better than to let himself be mixed up in it; and that I didn’t believe the case had a leg to stand on. But between you and me, my dear, I shouldn’t wonder if that particular kind of thieving that they call legal justice was on her side; and I fear there may be danger. But what I was going to say is, that if she is actually setting to work to ruin your husband, it doesn’t look much as if they were in love with each other, does it?”
Marion clasped her hands together softly in her lap, and her eyes shone. A long sigh breathed from her lips, which smiled tremulously.
“Aye, aye,” said Lady Flanders, sighing also, and scowling, “I know how it is! You are feeling happier than if I’d just told you you’d been made heiress of all the money in the Bank of England: and by-and-by, as soon as you’re able to think of anything else but Philip, you’ll turn round and fly into a terrible passion with me, because I misled you about him. But upon my honor, my dear, it was only your dignity and welfare I was thinking of. And mind you, this may be nothing but a blind, after all.”
“No,” said Marion, in a tender, preoccupied tone: “it is true; I am sure of it. I have been the wicked one. If he will only forgive me!”
“Never tell a person of my age and character that you are wicked,” said Lady Flanders dryly; “it is not in good taste, for it makes ’em wonder what the Recording Angel will call them. As to forgiving you, if he were here, and didn’t—”
“Do you know where he is?” exclaimed Marion, springing up. “Is he in the house? Oh, Lady Flanders, is he—”
“My dear, I don’t know where he is, any more than you do: but there’s no doubt he will be found soon enough, and I hope the lesson he’s had will have done him good. Meantime, there’s another matter to attend to. Your good mother, Mrs. Lockhart, you know—we arranged that she should be told nothing of all this trouble; and I gave her to understand, when I took you away, that you and your husband were going into the country to visit the Earl, and ’twas uncertain when you’d be back. Now, I got a letter from her this morning, saying that this was the anniversary of her wedding-day, and she wanted to spend it in the old house at Hammersmith. She was going to set out this forenoon; and it occurred to me it might be a good thing if you went with her. As your husband will probably turn up during the next few days, you would probably prefer to meet him in her company rather than in mine.”