They congratulated her on her complete escape from Demogorgon. The
Countess smiled on them with a lovely sorrow.

'Safe from the whisper, my dears; the ceaseless dread? If you knew what
I have to endure! I sometimes envy you. 'Pon my honour, I sometimes
wish I had married a fishmonger! Silva, indeed, is a most excellent
husband. Polished! such polish as you know not of in England. He has a
way--a wriggle with his shoulders in company--I cannot describe it to
you; so slight! so elegant! and he is all that a woman could desire.
But who could be safe in any part of the earth, my dears, while papa
will go about so, and behave so extraordinarily? I was at dinner at your
English embassy a month ago, and there was Admiral Combleman, then on the
station off Lisbon, Sir Jackson Racial's friend, who was the Admiral at
Lymport formerly. I knew him at once, and thought, oh! what shall I do!
My heart was like a lump of lead. I would have given worlds that we
might one of us have smothered the other! I had to sit beside him--
it always happens! Thank heaven! he did not identify me. And then
he told an anecdote of Papa. It was the dreadful old "Bath" story.
I thought I should have died. I could not but fancy the Admiral
suspected. Was it not natural? And what do you think I had the audacity
to do? I asked him coolly, whether the Mr. Harrington he mentioned was
not the son of Sir Abraham Harrington, of Torquay,--the gentleman who
lost his yacht in the Lisbon waters last year? I brought it on myself.
"Gentleman, ma'am,--MA'AM!" says the horrid old creature, laughing,"
gentleman! he's a--" I cannot speak it: I choke! And then he began
praising Papa. Diacho! what I suffered. But, you know, I can keep my
countenance, if I perish. I am a Harrington as much as any of us!'

And the Countess looked superb in the pride with which she said she was
what she would have given her hand not to be. But few feelings are