“I don’t know what you mean by that, Lord George.”
“Just what you were saying, when you talked of your experiences. These experiences do surprise one. I have knocked about the world a great deal, and would have almost said that nothing would surprise me. You are no more than a child to me, but you have surprised me.”
“I hope I have not injured you, Lord George.”
“Do you remember how you rode to hounds the day your cousin took that other man’s horse? That surprised me.”
“Oh, Lord George, that was the happiest day of my life. How little happiness there is for people!”
“And when Tewett got that girl to say she’d marry him, the coolness with which you bore all the abomination of it in your house—for people who were nothing to you;—that surprised me!”
“I meant to be so kind to you all.”
“And when I found that you always travelled with ten thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds in a box, that surprised me very much. I thought that you were a very dangerous companion.”
“Pray don’t talk about the horrid necklace.”
“Then came the robbery, and you seemed to lose your diamonds without being at all unhappy about them. Of course, we understand that now.” On hearing this, Lizzie smiled, but did not say a word. “Then I perceived that I—I was supposed to be the thief. You—you yourself couldn’t have suspected me of taking the diamonds, because—because you’d got them, you know, all safe in your pocket. But you might as well own the truth now. Didn’t you think that it was I who stole the box?”
“I wish it had been you,” said Lizzie laughing.
“All that surprised me. The police were watching me every day as a cat watches a mouse, and thought that they surely had got the thief when they found that I had dealings with Benjamin. Well; you—you were laughing at me in your sleeve all the time.”
“Not laughing, Lord George.”
“Yes, you were. You had got the kernel yourself, and thought that I had taken all the trouble to crack the nut and had found myself with nothing but the shell. Then, when you found you couldn’t eat the kernel, that you couldn’t get rid of the swag without assistance, you came to me to help you. I began to think then that you were too many for all of us. By Jove, I did! Then I heard of the second robbery, and, of course, I thought you had managed that too.”
“Oh, no,” said Lizzie.
“Unfortunately you didn’t; but I thought you did. And you thought that I had done it! Mr. Benjamin was too clever for us both, and now he is going to have penal servitude for the rest of his life. I wonder who will be the better of it all. Who’ll have the diamonds at last?”
“I do not in the least care. I hate the diamonds. Of course I would not give them up, because they were my own.”
“The end of it seems to be that you have lost your property, and sworn ever so many false oaths, and have brought all your friends into trouble, and have got nothing by it. What was the good of being so clever?”
“You need not come here to tease me, Lord George.”
“I came here because you sent for me. There’s my poor friend, Mrs. Carbuncle, declares that all her credit is destroyed, and her niece unable to marry, and her house taken away from her—all because of her connection with you.”
“Mrs. Carbuncle is—is—is—Oh, Lord George, don’t you know what she is?”
“I know that Mrs. Carbuncle is in a very bad way, and that that girl has gone crazy, and that poor Griff has taken himself off to Japan, and that I am so knocked about that I don’t know where to go; and somehow it seems all to have come from your little manoeuvres. You see, we have, all of us, been made remarkable; haven’t we?”
“You are always remarkable, Lord George.”
“And it is all your doing. To be sure you have lost your diamonds for your pains. I wouldn’t mind it so much if anybody were the better for it. I shouldn’t have begrudged even Benjamin the pull, if he’d got it.”
He stood there, still looking down upon her, speaking with a sarcastic subrisive tone, and, as she felt, intending to be severe to her. She had sent for him, and now she didn’t know what to say to him. Though she believed that she hated him, she would have liked to get up some show of an affectionate farewell, some scene in which there might have been tears, and tenderness, and poetry—and, perhaps, a parting caress. But with his jeering words, and sneering face, he was as hard to her as a rock. He was now silent, but still looking down upon her as he stood motionless upon the rug—so that she was compelled to speak again. “I sent for you, Lord George, because I did not like the idea of parting with you forever, without one word of adieu.”
“You are going to tear yourself away;—are you?”
“I am going to Portray on Monday.”
“And never coming back any more? You’ll be up here before the season is over, with fifty more wonderful schemes in your little head. So Lord Fawn is done with, is he?”
“I have told Lord Fawn that nothing shall induce me ever to see him again.”
“And cousin Frank?”
“My cousin attends me down to Scotland.”
“Oh-h. That makes it altogether another thing. He attends you down to Scotland;—does he? Does Mr. Emilius go too?”
“I believe you are trying to insult me, sir.”
“You can’t expect but what a man should be a little jealous, when he has been so completely cut out himself. There was a time, you know, when even cousin Frank wasn’t a better fellow than myself.”
“Much you thought about it, Lord George.”
“Well;—I did. I thought about it a good deal, my lady. And I
