"I hope she has put all thought of Oliver out
of her mind long since. Well!--I had a letter from Lady Felton last
week--dear woman that!--all the love-affairs in the county come to roost
in her mind. She talks of young Roughsedge. Perhaps you don't know
anything of the gentleman?"
He explained, so far as his own knowledge went. Ferrier listened
attentively. A soldier? Good. Handsome, modest, and capable?--better.
Had just distinguished himself in this Nigerian expedition--mentioned in
despatches last week. Better still!--so long as he kept clear of the
folly of allowing himself to be killed. But as to the feelings of the
young lady?
Sir James sighed. "I sometimes see in her traces of--of
inheritance--which make one anxious."
Ferrier's astonishment showed itself in mouth and eyes.
"What I mean is," said Sir James, hastily, "a dramatic, impassioned way
of looking at things. It would never do if she were to get any damned
nonsense about 'expiation,' or not being free to marry, into her head."
Ferrier agreed, but a little awkwardly, since the "damned nonsense" was
Lady Lucy's nonsense, and both knew it.
They walked slowly back to Assisi, first putting their elderly heads
together a little further on the subject of Diana, and then passing on
to the politics of the moment--to the ever present subject of the party
revolt, and its effect on the election.
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