"I hope your Ladyship does," he replied, in all the airs of his exclusive character; "I should conceive myself vastly unhappy if you did not?" Lady Baskerville looked significantly at her dear friend Lady Boileau; who knew, as well as herself, that this ultra-liberalism of her Lord in regard to the conduct of wives, whatever it might be in respect to husbands, was entirely assumed on Lord Baskerville's part.
While this conversation passed in the drawing-room, Lord Albert and Mr. Foley were discoursing in their apartment above-stairs. They had each expressed great interest about Lady Hamlet Vernon's indisposition; and after waiting some time to hear accounts of her from her female attendants, they fell into other conversation of various kinds, during which Lord Albert D'Esterre found himself unfeignedly amused and interested with the talents, taste, and refinement of Mr. Foley; and the more so, as he spoke much of Dunmelraise and its inhabitants, and was lavish in his praise of Lady Adeline.
"There is only one point," he said, "which however is hardly worth mentioning, for of course it only arises out of the seclusion and the monotony of her present existence; but certainly Lady Adeline, _pour trancher le mot_, is a _little_ methodistical--the sooner you go and put that matter to rights the better." Lord Albert's manner of receiving the latter part of this information, proved to Mr. Foley that he had mistaken the character of the person he addressed, and he added,
"But indeed Lady Adeline Seymour is so perfect, that it matters very little what she does--every thing _she does_ must be right."--The conversation then took another turn, and they parted.
Lord Albert D'Esterre was not what might be called a jealous man; but no man, no human being can be without the possibility of feeling jealousy--neither was he naturally suspicious, but nothing is more apt to generate a suspicion of the fidelity of another's conduct, than the consciousness of any breach in the integrity of our own. He pressed his hand to his heart--he sat down--rose up--paced his chamber, and still repeated to himself the praises which Mr. Foley had uttered of _his_ Adeline. "_My_ Adeline," he said, and then again stopped; "but is she _mine_? do I deserve she should still be _mine_, when I have so neglected her? no!"--His servant came into the room with a note, the well known shape and colour of which he could not mistake. It was placed in his hand--he opened it carelessly and was about to cast it away, when the name of _Adeline_ caught his eye; then he hastily read the following words.