“Gone out, my Lord,” she replied.
“Where?”
“My Lady did not tell me.”
“And don’t you know?”
“No, my Lord:” she answered, and without blushing.
“Is this the night of the masquerade?” said he.
“I don’t know, my Lord, upon my word; but, I believe, my Lord, it is not.”
Sandford, as soon as Lord Elmwood had asked the last question, ran hastily to the table, at the other side of the room, took something from it, and returned to his place again—and when the maid said, “It was not the night of the masquerade,” he exclaimed, “But it is, my Lord, it is—yes, it is,” and shewing a newspaper in his hand, pointed to the paragraph which contained the information.
“Leave the room,” said Lord Elmwood to the woman, “I have done with you.” She withdrew.
“Yes, yes, here it is,” repeated Sandford, with the paper in his hand.——He then read the paragraph: “‘The masquerade at the honorable Mrs. G——’s this evening’—This evening, my Lord, you find—‘it is expected will be the most brilliant, of any thing of the kind for these many years past.’”