“Lord Clancarty has probably never respected his marriage,” she remarked, in a biting tone, though she smiled; “you are very childish, Elizabeth, for your years.”
“I am quite advanced,” her daughter replied, rising and setting her cup on the table where the cards were scattered, “and perhaps I am too old to think of divorces.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Sunderland said frowning, “your father and I mean to see you well married when we are rid of this Irish nuisance.”
“Indeed,” said Lady Betty coldly, elevating her brows, “to whom? My Lord Savile, for instance, or Mr. Benham?”
“You might do worse,” retorted Lady Sunderland stiffly; “they are both fine young men and in favor at court.”
“Precisely,” said Lady Betty, “and ’tis strange that my taste is so perverted. Dear madam, I bid you good-night. We will discuss their excellencies later; now I am perishing with sleep,” and she dropped her mother a courtesy and slipped out of the room, leaving the older countess frowning and biting her lips, the rouge showing red on her cheeks.
But once alone with Alice Lynn, Betty laughed, with tears shining in her eyes.
“Ah, the trap is set, Alice, dear,” she said, “the trap is set, if only this poor little mouse will nibble at the cheese!”