together, Lady Chiltern had said not a word to Phineas of her aunt,
and now he felt himself to be almost discomposed by the meeting. "Is
your daughter here, Lady Baldock?"

Lady Baldock shook her head solemnly and sadly. "Do not speak of her,
Mr. Finn. It is too sad! We never mention her name now." Phineas
looked as sad as he knew how to look, but he said nothing. The
lamentation of the mother did not seem to imply that the daughter was
dead; and, from his remembrance of Augusta Boreham, he would have
thought her to be the last woman in the world to run away with the
coachman. At the moment there did not seem to be any other sufficient
cause for so melancholy a wagging of that venerable head. He had been
told to say nothing, and he could ask no questions; but Lady Baldock
did not choose that he should be left to imagine things more terrible
than the truth. "She is lost to us for ever, Mr. Finn."

"How very sad."

"Sad, indeed! We don't know how she took it."

"Took what, Lady Baldock?"

"I am sure it was nothing that she ever saw at home. If there is a
thing I'm true to, it is the Protestant Established Church of
England. Some nasty, low, lying, wheedling priest got hold of her,
and now she's a nun, and calls herself--Sister Veronica John!" Lady
Baldock threw great strength and unction into her description of the
priest; but as soon as she had told her story a sudden thought struck
her. "Oh, laws! I quite forgot. I beg your pardon, Mr. Finn; but
you're one of them!"