“My business is with Mrs. Falconer.”
“My lord—your lordship—the honour and the pleasure of a visit—Georgiana, my dear.”
Mrs. Falconer nodded to her daughter, who most unwillingly, and as if dying with curiosity, retired.
The smile died away upon Mrs. Falconer’s lips as she observed the stern gravity of Lord Oldborough’s countenance. She moved a chair towards his lordship—he stood, and leaning on the back of the chair, paused, as he looked at her.
“What is to come?—Cunningham, perhaps,” thought Mrs. Falconer; “or perhaps something about John. When will he speak?—I can’t—I must—I am happy to see your lordship looking so well.”
“Is Mrs. Falconer acquainted with Lady Trant?”
“Lady Trant—yes, my lord.”
“Mercy! Is it possible?—No, for her own sake she would not betray me,” thought Mrs. Falconer.
“Intimately?” said Lord Oldborough.
“Intimately—that is, as one’s intimate with every body of a certain sort—one visits—but no farther—I can’t say I have the honour—”