“I was only a listener, Mr. Mowbray,” returned Lady Binks, with evident enjoyment of the rising indignation which she read in his countenance; “not being queen of the night, I am not at all disposed to be answerable for the turn of the conversation.”
Mowbray, in no humour to bear jesting, yet afraid to expose himself by farther enquiry in a company so public, darted a fierce look at Lady Penelope, then in close conversation with Lord Etherington,—advanced a step or two towards them,—then, as if checking himself, turned on his heel, and left the room. A few minutes afterwards, and when certain satirical nods and winks were circulating among the assembly, a waiter slid a piece of paper into Mrs. Jones's hand, who, on looking at the contents, seemed about to leave the room.
“Jones—Jones!” exclaimed Lady Penelope, in surprise and displeasure.
“Only the key of the tea-caddie, your ladyship,” answered Jones; “I will be back in an instant.”
“Jones—Jones!” again exclaimed her mistress, “here is enough”—of tea, she would have said; but Lord Etherington was so near her, that she was ashamed to complete the sentence, and had only hope in Jones's quickness of apprehension, and the prospect that she would be unable to find the key which she went in search of.
Jones, meanwhile, tripped off to a sort of housekeeper's apartment, of which she was locum tenens for the evening, for the more ready supply of whatever might be wanted on Lady Penelope's night, as it was called. Here she found Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's, whom she instantly began to assail with, “La! now, Mr. Mowbray, you are such another gentleman!—I am sure you will make me lose my place—I'll swear you will—what can you have to say, that you could not as well put off for an hour?”
“I want to know, Jones,” answered Mowbray, in a different tone, perhaps, from what the damsel expected, “what your lady was just now saying about my family.”
“Pshaw!—was that all?” answered Mrs. Jones. “What should she be saying?—nonsense—Who minds what she says?—I am sure I never do, for one.”
“Nay, but, my dear Jones,” said Mowbray, “I insist upon knowing—I must know, and I will know.”
“La! Mr. Mowbray, why should I make mischief?—As I live, I hear some one coming! and if you were found speaking with me here—indeed, indeed, some one is coming!”