se me."

"May I ask why?"

"He hates her! The last time I saw him he wouldn't allow me to mention
her name. It is one of his innumerable oddities. If any such feeling as
sympathy is a possible feeling in such a nature as his, he ought to like
Helena Beauly. She is the most completely unconventional person I know.
When she does break out, poor dear, she says things and does things
which are almost reckless enough to be worthy of Dexter himself. I
wonder whether you would like her?"

"You have kindly asked me to visit you, Lady Clarinda. Perhaps I may
meet her at your house?"

"I hope you will not wait until that is likely to happen," she said.
"Helena's last whim is to fancy that she has got--the gout, of all the
maladies in the world! She is away at some wonderful baths in Hungary
or Bohemia (I don't remember which)--and where she will go, or what she
will do next, it is perfectly impossible to say.--Dear Mrs. Woodville!
is the heat of the fire too much for you? You are looking quite pale."

I _felt_ that I was looking pale. The discovery of Mrs. Beauly's absence
from England was a shock for which I was quite unprepared. For a moment
it unnerved me.

"Shall we go into the other room?" asked Lady Clarinda.

To go into the other room would be to drop the conversation. I was
determined not to let that catastrophe happen. It was just possible that
Mrs. Beauly's maid might have quitted her service, or might have been
left behind in England. My information would not be complete until I
knew what had become of the maid. I pushed my chair back a little from
the fire-place, and took a hand-screen from a table near me; it might be
made useful in hiding my face, if any more disappointments were in store
for me.

"Thank you, Lady Clarinda; I was only a little too near the fire. I
shall do admirably here. You surprise me about Mrs. Beauly. From what
Mr. Dexter said to me, I had imagined--"

"Oh, you must not believe anything Dexter tells you!" interposed Lady
Clarinda. "He delights in mystifying people; and he purposely misled
you, I have no doubt. If all that I hear is true, _he_ ought to know
more of Helena Beauly's strange freaks and fancies than most people.
He all but discovered her in one of her adventures (down in Scotland),
which reminds me of the story in Auber's charming opera--what is it
called? I shall forget my own name next! I mean the opera in which the
two nuns slip out of the convent, and go to the ball.