SECOND DESPATCH OF THE COUNTESS

We do not advance very far in this second despatch, and it will be found chiefly serviceable for the indications it affords of our General’s skill in mining, and addiction to that branch of military science.  For the moment I must beg that a little indulgence be granted to her.

’Purely business.  Great haste.  Something has happened.  An event?  I know not; but events may flow from it.

’A lady is here who has run away from the conjugal abode, and Lady Jocelyn shelters her, and is hospitable to another, who is more concerned in this lady’s sad fate than he should be.  This may be morals, my dear:  but please do not talk of Portugal now.  A fine-ish woman with a great deal of hair worn as if her maid had given it one comb straight down and then rolled it up in a hurry round one finger.  Malice would say carrots.  It is called gold.  Mr. Forth is in a glass house, and is wrong to cast his sneers at perfectly inoffensive people.

’Perfectly impossible we can remain at Beckley Court together—­if not dangerous.  Any means that Providence may designate, I would employ.  It will be like exorcising a demon.  Always excuseable.  I only ask a little more time for stupid Evan.  He might have little Bonner now.  I should not object; but her family is not so good.

’Now, do attend.  At once obtain a copy of Strike’s Company people.  You understand—­prospectuses.  Tell me instantly if the Captain Evremonde in it is Captain Lawson Evremonde.  Pump Strike.  Excuse vulgar words.  Whether he is not Lord Laxley’s half-brother.  Strike shall be of use to us.  Whether he is not mad.  Captain E——­’s address.  Oh! when I think of Strike—­brute! and poor beautiful uncomplaining Carry and her shoulder!  But let us indeed most fervently hope that his Grace may be balm to it.  We must not pray for vengeance.  It is sinful.  Providence will inflict that.  Always know that Providence is quite sure to.  It comforts exceedingly.

’Oh, that Strike were altogether in the past tense!  No knowing what the Duke might do—­a widower and completely subjugated.  It makes my bosom bound.  The man tempts me to the wickedest Frenchy ideas.  There!

We progress with dear venerable Mrs. Bonner.  Truly pious—­interested in your Louisa.  She dreads that my husband will try to convert me to his creed.  I can but weep and say—­never!

’I need not say I have my circle.  To hear this ridiculous boy Harry Jocelyn grunt under my nose when he has led me unsuspectingly away from company—­Harriet! dearest!  He thinks it a sigh!  But there is no time for laughing.