“Well, I don’t think you told him as much as that, did you?” Lady Lescelles asked. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. She had behaved in every way perfectly. . It may be well, therefore, before proceeding farther, to describe it more minutely. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady.
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