"To original sin, I am afraid," said Lady Broadhem, looking down, for my manner seemed to puzzle, and make her nervous.
"Oh, it is not at all 'original,'" said I. "Whatever other merit it possesses, it can't claim originality—it is the commonest thing in the world; but I think it is an acquired taste at first—it grows upon you like caviar or olives. I remember some years ago, in Australia, running away with the wife of a charming fellow——"
"Oh, Lord Frank, Lord Frank, please stop! Have you repented? and where is she?"
"No," I said, "I never intend to repent; and I'll tell you where she is after the marriage."
At this crisis the demon of recklessness which had sustained me, and prompted the above atrocious falsehood, deserted me suddenly, so I leant against the mantelpiece and sobbed aloud. I remember deriving a malicious satisfaction from the idea that Lady Broadhem thought I was weeping for my imaginary Australian.
"How very dreadful!" said she, when I became somewhat calmer. "We must forget the past, and try and reform ourselves, mustn't we?" she went on, caressingly; "but I had no idea that you had passed through a jeunesse orageuse. Do you know, I think men, when they do steady, are always the better for it."
"Well, I hope Lady Ursula may keep me quiet; nothing else ever has yet. I suppose you won't expect me to go to church?"
"We'll talk about that after the marriage, to use your own expression," replied Lady Broadhem, with a smile.
"Because, you know, I am worse than Grandon as regards orthodoxy. Now, Chundango is so thoroughly sound, don't you think, after all, that that is the first consideration?"
"To tell you the truth—but of course I never breathed it to Ursula—I attach a good deal of importance to colour."