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"It is too late," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone. "I have said so many things about you, that—that——" "But you were not afraid to dance with Lauderdale, my son?" says the duchess, looking at her. "Loved nothing better than a—oh, how you must have misunderstood me!" says Rodney, with mournful earnestness, liberally sprinkled with reproach..
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"Ah! so Geoffrey says," returns she, with a perfectly unembarrassed and pleased little laugh, while a great gleam of tender love comes into her eyes as she makes mention of her husband's name. "But I really am not you know." "Do not take her away yet,—not yet," he says, in a faint whisper. "Do not try to make me any commonplace speeches," says Rodney, marking her hesitation. He speaks hastily, yet with evident difficulty. "I am dying. Nothing, can alter that. But death has brought you to my side again, so I cannot repine." "Now, this is kind,—very kind," says the little man, approvingly, shaking both their hands. "And so soon, too; no time lost. Poor soul! he is calling incessantly for you, my dear Mrs. Geoffrey. It is a sad case,—very—very. Away from every one he knows. But come in; come in.".
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