“What, again?” shrieks the lady.
“Hush! Your ladyship's dear invalid!” whispers the chaplain again pointing towards Madame Bernstein. “Do you think your cousin has any partiality for any—any member of Mr. Lambert's family? for example, Miss Lambert?”
“There is nothing between him and Miss Lambert,” says Lady Maria.
“Your ladyship is certain?”
“Women are said to have good eyes in such matters, my good Sampson,” says my lady, with an easy air. “I thought the little girl seemed to be following him.”
“Then I am at fault once more,” the frank chaplain said. “Mr. Warrington said of the young lady, that she ought to go back to her doll, and called her a pert, stuck-up little hussy.”
“Ah!” sighed Lady Maria, as if relieved by the news.
“Then, madam, there must be somebody else,” said the chaplain. “Has he confided nothing to your ladyship?”
“To me, Mr. Sampson? What? Where? How?” exclaims Maria.
“Some six days ago, after we had been dining at the White Horse, and drinking too freely, Mr. Warrington lost a pocket-book containing letters.”