"Then how came you to admit them?"
"Oh! I can scarcely tell. Sometimes we were left in doubt, the evening before, whether our party was to take place on the following day or not, and he wrote to me to know how it was to be. Then I sometimes returned fatigued with our day's excursion, and a note of inquiry would arrive. Then another morning would come flowers, another music, and with all these came notes."
"Did you ever answer them?"
"Very seldom, for you know I hate writing; and when I did it was only a literal word of reply to some question about the hour at which we were to ride or dine out. The notes themselves will tell you this, Glenmore, for they complain of never being answered."
"But if you did not answer, you valued them, Georgina, or you would not have preserved them."
"Yes," she replied, "I liked the attention they proved; but that was all. I meant no harm; and though Lady Tenderden frequently knew of the circumstance, she never reproved me for receiving them."
"Did Lady Tenderden," exclaimed Lord Glenmore with surprise, "never tell you you were in the wrong, or, at least, imprudent?"
"No—no," Lady Glenmore answered with some hesitation, and as if endeavouring to recollect herself.
"You hesitate, Georgina. Did Lady Tenderden, I ask you pointedly, never make any remark on Mr. Leslie Winyard's attentions to you?"