It was therefore a matter of surprise, as well as of displeasure, to
Lydia, to find, on glancing up one day from her seat in the garden, that
the shadow which had fallen across her book was that of the enigmatic Mrs.
Linton.
"I want to speak to you," that lady said, in a rich hard voice that seemed
the audible expression of her gown and her complexion.
Lydia started. She certainly did not want to speak to Mrs. Linton.
"Shall I sit down here?" the latter continued, fixing her intensely-shaded
eyes on Lydia's face, "or are you afraid of being seen with me?"
"Afraid?" Lydia colored. "Sit down, please. What is it that you wish to
say?"
Mrs. Linton, with a smile, drew up a garden-chair and crossed one open-
work ankle above the other.
"I want you to tell me what my husband said to your husband last night."
Lydia turned pale.
"My husband--to yours?" she faltered, staring at the other.
"Didn't you know they were closeted together for hours in the smoking-room
after you went upstairs? My man didn't get to bed until nearly two o'clock
and when he did I couldn't get a word out of him. When he wants to be
aggravating I'll back him against anybody living!" Her teeth and eyes
flashed persuasively upon Lydia. "But you'll tell me what they were
talking about, won't you? I know I can trust you--you look so awfully
kind. And it's for his own good. He's such a precious donkey and I'm so
afraid he's got into some beastly scrape or other.
Pages:
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95