had had some people to dinner whom she had been obliged to ask.
Bobus, is that the 'Public Advertiser'? See whether that d--d fellow
Junius has been writing any more of his venomous letters."

Clarence was not a man apt to take offence, but he felt his bile rise.
"It will not do to show it," thought he; so he made some further
remark in a jesting vein; and, after a very ill-sustained conversation
of some minutes longer, rose, apparently in the best humour possible,
and departed, with a solemn intention never again to enter the house.
Thence he went to Lady Westborough's.

The marchioness was in her boudoir: Clarence was as usual admitted;
for Lady Westborough loved amusement above all things in the world,
and Clarence had the art of affording it better than any young man of
her acquaintance. On entering, he saw Lady Flora hastily retreating
through an opposite door. She turned her face towards him for one
moment: that moment was sufficient to freeze his blood: the large
tears were rolling down her cheeks, which were as white as death, and
the expression of those features, usually so laughing and joyous, was
that of utter and ineffable despair.

Lady Westborough was as lively, as bland, and as agreeable as ever:
but Clarence thought he detected something restrained and embarrassed
lurking beneath all the graces of her exterior manner; and the single
glance he had caught of the pale and altered face of Lady Flora was
not calculated to reassure his mind or animate his spirits. His visit
was short; when he left the room, he lingered for a few moments in the
ante-chamber in the hope of again seeing Lady Flora. While thus
loitering, his ear caught the sound of Lady Westborough's voice: "When
Mr. Linden calls again, you have my orders never to admit him into