To which it may be added that Lady Helen, touched and dismayed by Elsmere's letter to her, had not been very eager to hand over the woes of her friends to her aunt's cool and irresponsible comments.
Lady Charlotte deliberately looked at him a minute longer through her glass. Then she let it fall.
'You don't mean to tell me any more, I can see, Mr. Elsmere. But you will allow me to be astonished?'
'Certainly,' he said, smiling sadly, and immediately afterwards relapsing into silence.
'Have you heard of the squire lately?' he asked her after a pause.
'Not from him. We are excellent friends when we meet, but he doesn't consider me worth writing to. His sister—little idiot—writes to me every now and then. But she has not vouchsafed me a letter since the summer. I should say from the last accounts that he was breaking.'
'He had a mysterious attack of illness just before I left,' said Robert gravely. 'It made one anxious.'
'Oh, it is the old story. All the Wendovers have died of weak hearts or queer brains—generally of both together. I imagine you had some experience of the squire's queerness at one time, Mr. Elsmere. I can't say you and he seemed to be on particularly good terms on the only occasion I ever had the pleasure of meeting you at Murewell.'
She looked up at him, smiling grimly. She had a curiously exact memory for the unpleasant scenes of life.
'Oh, you remember that unlucky evening!' said Robert, reddening a little. 'We soon got over that. We became great friends.'