Hyacinth was reading De Malfort’s letter as she talked, moving about the room a little, and then stopping in front of the fireplace, where the light from two clusters of wax candles shone down upon the finely written page.
Mrs. Lewin watched her for a few minutes, and then produced some pieces of silk out of her muff.
“I made so bold as to bring your ladyship some patterns of Italian silks which only came to hand this morning,” she said. “There is a cherry-red that would become your ladyship to the T.”
“Make me a gown of it, my excellent Lewin—and good night to you.”
“But sure your ladyship will look at the colour? There is a pattern of amber with gold thread might please you better. Lady Castlemaine has ordered a Court mantua——”
Lady Fareham rang her hand-bell with a vehemence that suggested anger.
“Show Mrs. Lewin to her coach,” she said shortly, when her woman appeared. “When you have done that you may go to bed; I want nothing more to-night.”
“Mrs. Kirkland has been asking to see your ladyship.”
“I will see no one to-night. Tell Mrs. Kirkland so, with my love.”
She ran to the door when the maid and milliner were gone, and locked it, and then ran back to the fireplace, and flung herself down upon the rug to read her letter.