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Poor Lady Busshe is in despair at your disappointment. Now, I mean my wedding-present to be to your taste." "Madam!" "Who is the madam you are imploring?" "Dear Mrs. Mountstuart!" "Well?" "I shall fall in your esteem. Perhaps you will help me. No one else can. I am a prisoner: I am compelled to continue this imposture.
"A present worth examining," Willoughby said to her: "and I do not dwell on the costliness. Come presently, then. I am at your disposal all day. I will drive you in the afternoon to call on Lady Busshe to offer your thanks: but you must see it first. It is laid out in the laboratory." "There is time before the afternoon," said Clara. "Wedding presents?" interposed De Craye.
She could see through him to the depth of the skin, which his fencing sensitiveness vainly attempted to cover as it did the heart of him. "Lady Busshe is nothing without her flights, fads, and fancies. She has always insisted that you have an unfortunate nose. I remember her saying on the day of your majority, it was the nose of a monarch destined to lose a throne."
"You," said Lady Culmer, "have the advantage of us in a closer acquaintance with Miss Middleton. You know her tastes, and how far they have been consulted in the little souvenirs already grouped somewhere, although not yet for inspection. I am at sea. And here is Lady Busshe in deadly alarm.
You know, you always know; we hang on you. Is there any truth in it? a particle?" Mrs. Mountstuart seated herself regally "Ah, Mr. Dale!" she said, inclining to him. "Yes, dear Lady Busshe, there is a particle." "Now, do not roast us. You can; you have the art. I have the whole story. That is, I have a part.
Lady Busshe murmured to them: "You know the two did not agree; they did not get on: I saw it; I predicted it." "She will understand him in time," said they. "Never. And my belief is, they have parted by consent, and Letty Dale wins the day at last. Yes, now I do believe it."
"Oh, I know that face: I know that look," Lady Busshe affected to remark rallyingly: "it is not the first time I have seen it." Sir Willoughby smarted to his marrow. "We will rout these fancies of an overscrupulous generosity, my dear Lady Busshe." Her unwonted breach of delicacy in speaking publicly of her present, and the vulgar persistency of her sticking to the theme, very much perplexed him.
"We are in a perfect maelstrom!" cried Lady Busshe, turning to everybody. "It is a complete hurricane!" cried Lady Culmer. A light broke over the faces of the Patterne ladies. They exchanged it with one another. They had been so shocked as to be almost offended by Lady Busshe, but their natural gentleness and habitual submission rendered them unequal to the task of checking her.
"There's a regiment of us on view and ready for inspection." Colonel De Craye bowed to her, but she would not be foiled. "Miss Middleton's admirers are always on view." said he. "Are they to be seen?" said Lady Busshe. Clara made her face a question, with a laudable smoothness. "The wedding-presents," Lady Culmer explained. "No."
Sir Willoughby restrained a bound of his body that would have sent him up some feet into the air. He felt his skull thundered at within. "Rather than that it should fan upon her!" ejaculated he, correcting his resemblance to the high-caste culprit as soon as it recurred to him. "But you know Lady Busshe," said Mrs. Mountstuart, genuinely solicitous to ease the proud man of his pain.
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