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"Ho, ho!" thought Maurice, as he turned away. "So David has gone to see Lady Meg and the countess. Now, if he is in love with Isabella, and Mrs. Dallas favors his suit, I wonder why he acts in that way?" "When I have followed to its end the clew of which we have been speaking," replied Jen, and taking off his hat he walked swiftly away from the house. Swiftly, as he was afraid lest Isabella would ask him indoors, and for certain reasons not unconnected with the late conversation, he did not wish to face Mrs. Dallas at the present moment. There were large issues at stake. It was Dido who spoke first. She noticed that the eyes of her mistress constantly strayed in the direction of "Ashantee," and with the jealousy begotten of deep affection, she guessed that the girl's thoughts were fixed upon the much-hated Maurice. At once she spoke reproachfully, and in the grotesque negro dialect, which, however, coming from Dido's mouth, inspired no one with merriment..
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"But my mother may not consent," said Isabella, a trifle nervously. So I hurried and stuffed the grey-blue darling in the top tray, lapped the old black silk around my waist and belted it in with a black belt off a new green linen I had bought for morning walks—down to the butcher's in the High Street, I suppose. That is about the only morning dissipation in Hillsboro that I can think of, and it all depends on whom you meet, how much of a dissipation it is. "I can understand all that," interrupted Jen, "but the similarity of the perfumes? I must have that point cleared up." "Well, anyway, I'm fearfully hungry," she said airily. "I can't stand any more palaver. Come along to the cave and let us feed while there is time.".
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