“It relates to Harley,” said the Countess, as if in apology; “and I would take your advice.”
“To Harley! speak on, I beseech you.”
“My son has probably told you that he has educated and reared a young girl, with the intention to make her Lady L'Estrange, and hereafter Countess of Lansmere.”
“Harley has no secrets from me,” said Egerton, mournfully.
“This young lady has arrived in England—is here—in this house.”
“And Harley too?”
“No, she came over with Lady N—— and her daughters. Harley was to follow shortly, and I expect him daily. Here is his letter. Observe, he has never yet communicated his intentions to this young person, now intrusted to my care—never spoken to her as the lover.”
Egerton took the letter and read it rapidly, though with attention.
“True,” said he, as he returned the letter: “and before he does so, he wishes you to see Miss Digby and to judge of her yourself—wishes to know if you will approve and sanction his choice.”
“It is on this that I would consult you—a girl without rank;—the father, it is true, a gentleman, though almost equivocally one—but the mother, I know not what. And Harley, for whom I hoped alliance with the first houses in England!” The Countess pressed her hands convulsively together.