Philip started visibly at her words.

“Ah!  Mr. Caresfoot,” she went on, “I surprise you by my knowledge, but we women are sad spies, and it is my little amusement to find out other people’s secrets, a very useful little amusement.  I could tell you many things——­”

“I was about to say,” broke in Philip, who had naturally no desire to see more of the secrets of his life unveiled by Lady Bellamy, “that, even if I did wish to get rid of Angela, I should have little difficulty in doing so, as young Heigham, who has been stopping at the Abbey House for a fortnight or so, is head over ears in love with her; indeed, I should think it highly probable that they are at this moment engaged.”

It was Lady Bellamy’s turn to start now.

“Ah!” she said, “I did not know that; that complicates matters.”  And then, with a sudden change of tone—­“Mr. Caresfoot, as a friend, let me beg of you not to throw away such a chance in a hurry for the sake of a few nonsensical ideas abut a girl.  What is she, after all, that she should stand in the way of such grave interests as you have in hand?  I tell you that he is perfectly mad about her.  You can make your own terms and fix your own price.”

“Price! ay, that is what it would be—­a price for her body and soul.”

“Well, and what of it?  The thing is done every day, only one does not talk of it in that way.”

“Who taught you, who were once a young girl yourself, to plead such a cause as this?”

“Nonsense, it is a very good cause—­a cause that will benefit everybody, especially your daughter.  George will get what he wants; you, with the recovery of the estates, will also recover your lost position and reputation, both to a great extent an affair of landed property.  Mr. Heigham will gain a little experience, whilst she will bloom into a great lady, and, like any other girl in the same circumstances, learn to adore her husband in a few months.”

“And what will you get, Lady Bellamy?”

“I!” she replied, with a gay laugh.  “Oh! you know, virtue is its own reward.  I shall be quite satisfied in seeing everybody else made happy.  Come, I do not want to press you about the matter at present.  Think it over at your leisure.  I only beg you not to give a decided answer to young Heigham, should he ask you for Angela, till I have seen you again—­say, in a week’s time.  Then, if you don’t like it, you can leave it alone, and nobody will be a penny the worse.”

“As you like; but I tell you that I can never consent;” and Philip took his leave.

“Your cousin entirely refuses his consent, and Angela is by this time probably engaged to your ex-ward, Arthur Heigham,” was Lady Bellamy’s not very promising report to the interesting invalid in the dining-room.

After relieving his feelings at this intelligence in language more forcible than polite, George remarked that, under these circumstances, matters looked very bad.