"No!" Sophia exclaimed, raising her eyebrows. "Then who is it, pray?"
"Well, my lady, it--it should have been removed," Mrs. Stokes explained, her embarrassment evident. "At one time it was to go to Sir Hervey's library, but 'twas thought it might be particular there. And so nothing was done about it. Sir Hervey wouldn't let it go anywhere else. But I was afraid that your ladyship might not be pleased."
Sophia stared coldly at her. "I don't understand," she said stiffly. "You have not told me who it is."
"It's Lady Anne, my lady."
"What Lady Anne?"
"Lady Anne Thoresby. I thought," the housekeeper added in a faltering tone, "your ladyship would have heard of her."
Sophia looked at the lovely young face, looked at the other portrait--of Sir Hervey in his gallant hunting-dress, gay, laughing, debonair--and she understood. "She was to have married Sir Hervey?" she said.
"Yes, my lady."
"And she died?"
"Yes, my lady, two days before their wedding-day," Mrs. Stokes answered, her garrulity beginning to get the better of her fears. "Sir Hervey was never the same again--that is to say, in old days, my lady," she added hurriedly. "He grew that silent it was wonderful, and no gentleman more pleasant before. He went abroad, and 'tis said he lost twenty thousand pounds in one night in Paris. And before that he had played no more than a gentleman should."