“Why—you have seen him?”
“Yes.”
Lady Dalrymple frowned. “I do not think they are so like,” she said, and shutting the case, put it back into her bosom.
Delia uttered a hard laugh.
“’Tis the same face,” she said cruelly.
The other laughed at her.
“We are well hated,” she said in a changed tone. “I think he has a name well loathed—but remember, whatever he had planned against the Macdonalds, statecraft well requires it—and I have given you the power to save them.”
Delia made no answer; Lady Dalrymple stood by the table, making no further attempt to speak; the silence was broken by the quiet entry of a servant.
“Sir John will see you now, madam,” he said, and to Lady Dalrymple he gave a letter.
“Sent by Mr. Wharton’s lackey, my lady.”