“May I inquire, Miss Silvester, if your sufferings are relieved?”

“I am no better, Lady Lundie.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said I was no better.”

“You appear to be able to stand up.  When I am ill, I am not so fortunate.  I am obliged to lie down."’

“I will follow your example, Lady Lundie.  If you will be so good as to excuse me, I will leave you, and lie down in my own room.”

She could say no more.  The interview with Geoffrey had worn her out; there was no spirit left in her to resist the petty malice of the woman, after bearing, as she had borne it, the brutish indifference of the man.  In another moment the hysterical suffering which she was keeping down would have forced its way outward in tears.  Without waiting to know whether she was excused or not, without stopping to hear a word more, she left the summer-house.

Lady Lundie’s magnificent black eyes opened to their utmost width, and blazed with their most dazzling brightness.  She appealed to Sir Patrick, poised easily on his ivory cane, and looking out at the lawn-party, the picture of venerable innocence.

“After what I have already told you, Sir Patrick, of Miss Silvester’s conduct, may I ask whether you consider that proceeding at all extraordinary?”

The old gentleman touched the spring in the knob of his cane, and answered, in the courtly manner of the old school: 

“I consider no proceeding extraordinary Lady Lundie, which emanates from your enchanting sex.”

He bowed, and took his pinch.  With a little jaunty flourish of the hand, he dusted the stray grains of snuff off his finger and thumb, and looked back again at the lawn-party, and became more absorbed in the diversions of his young friends than ever.

Lady Lundie stood her ground, plainly determined to force a serious expression of opinion from her brother-in-law.  Before she could speak again, Arnold and Blanche appeared together at the bottom of the steps.  “And when does the dancing begin?” inquired Sir Patrick, advancing to meet them, and looking as if he felt the deepest interest in a speedy settlement of the question.

“The very thing I was going to ask mamma,” returned Blanche.  “Is she in there with Anne?  Is Anne better?”

Lady Lundie forthwith appeared, and took the answer to that inquiry on herself.

“Miss Silvester has retired to her room.  Miss Silvester persists in being ill.  Have you noticed, Sir Patrick, that these half-bred sort of people are almost invariably rude when they are ill?”

Blanche’s bright face flushed up.  “If you think Anne a half-bred person, Lady Lundie, you stand alone in your opinion.  My uncle doesn’t agree with you, I’m sure.”

Sir Patrick’s interest in the first quadrille became almost painful to see. “Do tell me, my dear, when is the dancing going to begin?”