"Formerly British Minister at Naples, I think?"
"The same, sir; a person, they tell me, of great abilities, but very eccentric, and peculiar,--indeed, so his letters bespeak him."
"You have corresponded with him then, madam?"
"No, sir, never; but he wrote constantly to my husband before our marriage. They were at that time greatly attached to each other; and the elder, Sir Omerod, was always planning and plotting for his brother's advancement. He talked of him as if he was his son, rather than a younger brother; in fact, there were eighteen years between them. Our marriage broke up all this. The great man was shocked at the humble connection, and poor Walter would not bear to have me slightingly spoken of; but dear me, Mr. Maitland, how I am running on! To talk of such things to you! I am really ashamed of myself! What will you think of me?"
"Only what I have learned to think of you, madam, from all your neighbors,--with sentiments of deep respect and sincere interest."
"It is very good of you to say it, sir; and I wish Tony was back here to know you and thank you for all your attention to his mother."
"Well, sir, I am, and I am not. One letter is full of hope and expectancy; by Thursday or Friday he 's to have some tidings about this or that place; and then comes another, saying how Sir Harry counsels him to go out and make friends with his uncle. All mammon, sir,--nothing but mammon; just because this old man is very rich, and never was married."
"I suspect you are in error there, madam. Sir Omerod was married at least twenty years ago, when I first heard of him at Naples."
She shook her head doubtfully, and said, "I have always been told the reverse, sir. I know what you allude to, but I have reason to believe I am right, and there is no Lady Butler."
"It is curious enough, madam, that through a chance acquaintance on a railroad train, I learned all about the lady he married. She was an Italian."
"It 's the same story I have heard myself, sir. We only differ about the ending of it. She was a stage-player or a dancer."
"No, madam; a very celebrated prima donna."
"Ay," said she, as though there was no discrepancy there. "I heard how the old fool--for he was no young man then--got smitten with her voice and her beauty, and made such a fuss about her, taking her here and there in his state coach, and giving great entertainments for her at the Embassy, where the arms of England were over the door; and I have been told that the king heard of it, and wrote to Sir Omerod a fearful letter, asking how he dared so to degrade the escutcheon of the great nation he represented. Ah, you may smile, sir." Maitland had, indeed, smiled alike at her tale, and the energy with which she told it "You may smile, sir; but it was no matter for laughter, I promise you. His Majesty called on him to resign, and the great Sir Omerod, who would n't know his own brother, because he married a minister's daughter, fell from his high station for the sake of--I will not say any hard words; but she was not certainly superior in station to myself, and I will make no other comparison between us." \