He received formal information of Lady Dunstane’s progress to convalescence.  By degrees the simply official tone of Diana’s letters combined with the ceasing of them and the absence of her personal charm to make a gentleman not remarkable for violence in the passion so calmly reasonable as to think the dangerous presence best avoided for a time.  Subject to fits of the passion, he certainly was, but his position in the world was a counselling spouse, jealous of his good name.  He did not regret his proposal to take the leap; he would not have regretted it if taken.  On the safe side of the abyss, however, it wore a gruesome look to his cool blood.

CHAPTER XXVII

CONTAINS MATTER FOR SUBSEQUENT EXPLOSION

Among the various letters inundating Sir Lukin Dunstane upon the report of the triumph of surgical skill achieved by Sir William Macpherson and Mr. Lanyan Thomson, was one from Lady Wathin, dated Adlands, an estate of Mr. Quintin Manx’s in Warwickshire, petitioning for the shortest line of reassurance as to the condition of her dear cousin, and an intimation of the period when it might be deemed possible for a relative to call and offer her sincere congratulations:  a letter deserving a personal reply, one would suppose.  She received the following, in a succinct female hand corresponding to its terseness; every ‘t’ righteously crossed, every ‘i’ punctiliously dotted, as she remarked to Constance Asper, to whom the communication was transferred for perusal: 

’Dear lady Wathin,—­Lady Dunstane is gaining strength.  The measure of her pulse indicates favourably.  She shall be informed in good time of your solicitude for her recovery.  The day cannot yet be named for visits of any kind.  You will receive information as soon as the house is open.

’I have undertaken the task of correspondence, and beg you to
believe me,

’Very truly yours,
‘D.  A. Warwick.’

Miss Asper speculated on the handwriting of her rival.  She obtained permission to keep the letter, with the intention of transmitting it per post to an advertising interpreter of character in caligraphy.

Such was the character of the fair young heiress, exhibited by her performances much more patently than the run of a quill would reveal it.

She said, ‘It is rather a pretty hand, I think.’

‘Mrs. Warwick is a practised writer,’ said Lady Wathin.  ’Writing is her profession, if she has any.  She goes to nurse my cousin.  Her husband says she is an excellent nurse.  He says what he can for her.  But you must be in the last extremity, or she is ice.  His appeal to her has been totally disregarded.  Until he drops down in the street, as his doctor expects him to do some day, she will continue her course; and even then . . .’  An adventuress desiring her freedom!  Lady Wathin looked.  She was too devout a woman to say what she thought.  But she knew the world to be very wicked.  Of Mrs. Warwick, her opinion was formed.  She would not have charged the individual creature with a criminal design; all she did was to stuff the person her virtue abhorred with the wickedness of the world, and that is a common process in antipathy.