"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: