ble of making, and though he held his
hat as if he were going to walk out of the house, he ended by staying,
by putting it down again, by leaning his head, with his elbows on
his knees, in his hands, and groaning out that he had never heard
of anything so impossible, and that he was the most wretched man in
England. I was very sorry for him, and of course I told him so; but
privately I did n't think he stood up to his duty as he ought. I said to
him, however, that if he would give me his word of honor that he would
not abandon Miss Bernardstone, there was no trouble I would n't take
to be of use to him. I did n't think Lady Vandeleur _was_ behaving well.
He must allow me to repeat that; but if going to see her would give him
any pleasure (of course there was no question of pleasure for _her_) I
would go fifty times. I could n't imagine how it would help him, but I
would do it as I would do anything else he asked me. He did n't give me
his word of honor, but he said quietly, "_I_ shall go straight; you need
n't be afraid;" and as he spoke there was honor enough in his face.
This left an opening, of course, for another catastrophe. There might be
further postponements, and poor Lady Emily, indignant for the first
time in her life, might declare that her daughter's situation had become
intolerable and that they withdrew from the engagement. But this was too
odious a chance, and I accepted Mr. Tester's assurance. He told me that
the good I could do by going to see Lady Vandeleur was that it would
cheer her up, in that dreary, big house in Upper Brook Street, where
she was absolutely alone, with horrible overalls on the furniture, and
newspapers--actually newspapers--on the mirrors. She was seeing no one,
there was no one to see; but he knew she would see me. I asked him if
she knew, then, he was to speak to me of coming, and whether I might
allude to him, whether it was not too delicate. I shall never forget his
answer to this, nor the tone in which he made it, blushing a little, and
looking away. "Allude to me? Rather!" It was not the most fatuous speech
I had ever heard; it had the effect of being the most modest; and it
gave me an odd idea, and especially a new one, of the condition in
which, at any time, one might be destined to find Lady Vandeleur. If
she, too, were engaged in a struggle with her conscience (in this light
they were an edifying pair!) it had perhaps changed her considerably,
made her more approachable; an