“Pity!” said Lady Davenant, speaking to herself,—“pity! that ‘with such quick affections kindling into flame,’ they should burn to waste.”
“When, where?” repeated Beauclerc, with his eyes fixed on his guardian, and his soul in his eyes.
Soberly and slowly his guardian answered, and categorically,—“When did I meet Lord Beltravers? A short time before his father’s death.—Where? At Lady Grace Bland’s.”
“At Lady Grace Bland’s!—where he could not possibly appear to advantage! Well, go on, sir.”
“One moment—pardon me, Beauclerc; I have curiosity as well as yourself. May I ask why Lord Beltravers could not possibly have appeared to advantage at Lady Grace Bland’s?”
“Because I know he cannot endure her; I have heard him, speaking of her, quote what Johnson or somebody says of Clariss—‘a prating, preaching, frail creature.’”
“Good!” said the general, “he said this of his own aunt!”
“Aunt! You cannot mean that Lady Grace is his aunt?” cried Beauclerc.
“She is his mother’s sister,” replied the general, “and therefore is, I conceive, his aunt.”
“Be it so,” cried Beauclerc; “people must tell the truth sometimes, even of their own relations; they must know it best, and therefore I conclude that what Beltravers said of Lady Grace is true.”