"But, ma'am, in whom did she confide? not in me, I'll swear. I have
nothing to reproach myself with, thank God!--My conscience is clear; I
have been as ungallant as possible. I have been as cruel as my nature
would permit. I am sure no one can charge me with giving false
promises--I scarcely speak--nor false hopes, for I scarcely look at the
young lady."

"So, then, you know who the young lady in question is?"

"Perhaps I ought not to pretend to know."

"That would be useless affectation, alas! for I fear many know, and have
seen, and heard, much more than you have--or I either."

Here Mrs. Beaumont observed that her son's colour changed, and that he
suddenly grew serious: aware that she had now touched upon the right
chord, she struck it again "with a master's hand and prophet's fire."
She declared that all the world took it for granted that Miss Hunter was
to be married to Mr. Beaumont; that it was talked of every where; that
she was asked continually by her correspondents, when the marriage was
to take place?--in confirmation of which assertion, she produced bundles
of letters from her pockets, from Mrs. and Miss, and from Lady This, and
Lady That.

"Nay," continued she, "if it were confined even to the circle of one's
private friends and acquaintance, I should not so much mind it, for one
might contradict, and have it contradicted, and one might send the poor
thing away to some watering-place, and the report might die away, as
reports do--sometimes. But all that sort of thing it is too late to
think of now--for the thing is public! quite public! got into the