“Was not I very fortunate to meet with it?” said Lady Frances.
“I protest I see no good fortune in the business, from beginning to end.”
“Ah, because you are not come to the end yet—look—‘tis from Mrs. Hoel, of the inn at Cardiffe, and by the date, she must have been there last week.”
“Who—Mrs. Hoel?”
“Miss Warwick, my dear—I beg pardon for my pronoun—but do read this—eyes—hair—complexion—age—size—it certainly must be Miss Warwick.”
“And what then?” said Lady Di, with provoking coldness, walking on towards home.
“Why, then, my dear, you know we can go to Cardiffe to-morrow morning, find the poor girl, and, before any body knows any thing of the matter, before her reputation is hurt, or you blamed, before any harm can happen, convince the girl of her folly and imprudence, and bring her back to you and common sense.”
“To common sense, and welcome, if you can; but not to me.”
“Not to you!—Nay; but, my dear, what will become of her?”
“Nay; but, my dear Frances, what will the world say?”