At once, and as fast as she could speak, Lady Cecilia poured out her business about Helen Stanley. She told of the ill-bred manner in which Helen had been received last night; inquired why the words promessi sposi and belle fiancée were so oddly repeated, as if they had been watchwords, and asked what was meant by all those strange whisperings in the sanctum sanctorum.
“Katrine’s set,” observed Lady Castlefort coolly. “Just like them; just like her!”
“I should not care about it in the least,” said Lady Cecilia, “if it were only Katrine’s ill-nature, or their ill-breeding. Ill-breeding always recoils on the ill-bred, and does nobody else any harm. But I should be glad to be quite clear that there is nothing more at the bottom.”
Lady Castlefort made no reply, but took up a bunch of seals, and looked at each of them one after another. Lady Cecilia more afraid now than she had yet been that there was something at the bottom, still bravely went on, “What is it? If you know, tell me at once.”
“Nay, ask Katrine,” said Lady Castlefort.
“No, I ask you, I would rather ask you, for you are good-natured, Louisa—so tell me.”
“But I dare say it is only slander,” said the good-natured Louisa.
“Slander!” repeated Lady Cecilia, “slander did you say?”
“Yes; what is there to surprise you so much in that word? did you never hear of such a thing? I am sure I hear too much of it; Katrine lives and breathes and fattens upon it; as Churchill says, she eats slander, drinks slander, sleeps upon slander.”
“But tell me, what of Helen? that is all I want to hear,” cried Lady Cecilia: “Slander! of Helen Stanley! what is it that Katrine says about poor Helen? what spite, what vengeance, can she have against her, tell me, tell me.”