Is it the part of a friend to distort dear Ernest's kindliness and
gayety into ill morals; to pervert his love of poetry and plays into an
unworthy attachment to actors and--oh!" and the tears would come. But she
dried them, for now she hated this man; with all the little power of
hatred she had, she detested him. "Do you suppose I did not know Mrs.
Woffington was to come to us to-day?" cried she, struggling passionately
against her own fears and Sir Charles's innuendoes.
"What!" cried he; "you recognized her? You detected the actress of all
work under the airs of Lady Betty Modish?"
"Lady Betty Modish!" cried Mabel. "That good, beautiful face!"
"Ah!" cried Sir Charles, "I see you did not. Well, Lady Betty was Mrs.
Woffington!"
"Whom my husband, I know, had invited here to present her with these
verses, which I shall take him for her;" and her poor little lip
trembled. "Had the visit been in any other character, as you are so base,
so cruel as to insinuate (what have I done to you that you kill me so,
you wicked gentleman?), would he have chosen the day of my arrival?"
"Not if he knew you were coming," was the cool reply.
"And he did know--I wrote to him."
"Indeed!" said Pomander, fairly puzzled.
Mrs. Vane caught sight of her handwriting on the tray, and darted to it,
and seized her letter, and said, triumphantly:
"My last letter, written upon the road--see!"
Sir Charles took it with surprise, but, turning it in his hand, a cool,
satirical smile came to his face.
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