“In former times these Forresters were a respectable, good old English family, till the second wife, pretty and silly, took a fancy for figuring in London, where of course she was nobody. Then, to make herself somebody, she forced her husband to stand for the county. A contested election—bribery—a petition—another election—ruinous expense. Then that Beltravers title coming to them: and they were to live up to it,—and beyond their income. The old story—over head and shoulders in debt. Then the new story,—that they must go abroad for economy!”
“Economy! The cant of all those who have not courage to retrench at home,” said Lady Davenant.
“They must,” they said, “live abroad, it is so cheap,” continued the general. “So cheap to leave their house to go to ruin! Cheap education too! and so good—and what does it come to?”
“A cheap provision it is for a family in many cases,” said Lord Davenant. “Wife, son, and daughter, Satan, are thy own.”
“Not in this case,” cried Beauclerc; “you cannot mean I hope.”
“I can answer for one, the daughter at least,” said Lady Davenant; “that Mad. de St. Cimon, whom we saw abroad, at Florence, you know, Cecilia, with whom I would not let you form an acquaintance.”
“Your ladyship was quite right,” said the general.
Beauclerc could not say, “Quite wrong,”—and he looked—suffering.
“I know nothing of the son,” pursued Lady Davenant.
“I do,” said Beauclerc, “he is my friend.”