“The report has come to us zigzag as quick as lightning, yet it does not flash conviction upon me,” said Lady Delacour.
“Nor upon me,” said Mrs. Delacour, “for this simple reason. I have seen Miss Hartley within these two hours, and I had it from herself that she is not married.”
“Not married!” cried the dowager with terror.
“I rather think not; she is now with her father, at my house at dinner, I believe, and Clarence Hervey is at Lady Almeria’s, at Windsor: her ladyship is confined by a fit of the gout, and sent for her nephew yesterday. If people who live out of the world hear less, they sometimes hear more correctly than those who live in it.”
“Pray when does Mr. Hervey return from Windsor?” said the incorrigible dowager.
“To-morrow, madam,” said Mrs. Delacour. “As your ladyship is going to several parties this evening, I think it but charitable to set you right in these particulars, and I hope you will be so charitable as to contradict the report of Miss Hartley’s having been Clarence’s mistress.”
“Why, as to that, if the young lady is not married, we must presume there are good reasons for it,” said the dowager. “Pray, on which side was the match broken off?”
“On neither side,” answered Mrs. Delacour.
“The thing goes on then; and what day is the marriage to take place?” said Lady Boucher.
“On Monday—or Tuesday—or Wednesday—or Thursday—or Friday—or Saturday—-or Sunday, I believe,” replied Mrs. Delacour, who had the prudent art of giving answers effectually baffling to the curiosity of gossips.