"No, I think I might ask you in vain to do that," said Lord Teviot, coldly, for he rightly interpreted the meaning of the pause in her sentence. "I should not have a willing companion in my exile."
"Oh, you naughty girl!" said Lady Portmore, affectedly, "to hesitate about following your husband wherever he goes—to say nothing of such a husband! I am shocked at your hard-heartedness."
"I do not think Helen's hard-heartedness to be compared to yours. Lady Portmore," said Mary Forrester. "You have suddenly sent Lord and Lady Teviot out of the country, without the slightest warning. I have no doubt Lord Teviot would be just as sorry to leave his friends as Helen would be to leave hers. Of course I say nothing of such friends!" she added, laughing, as she looked round the table. "In common politeness, neither he nor Helen can say that they could quite console each other for the loss of us."
"Very true," said Ernest, who saw Lady Portmore's game; and "Very true," added Lord Beaufort, who was struck with Miss Forrester's energy and warmth; but at the sound of his voice in approval, the colour that came into Mary's cheek, and the slight curl of her lip, reminded him that he was not privileged to offer his opinion to her. Since the unlucky conversation in the library, not a word had passed between them, not even a look; she never seemed to see him. Once or twice it had nearly fallen to his lot to hand her in to dinner, but without any apparent premeditation, without a shadow of pique in her manner, she had contrived either to put Eliza forward, or by negligently continuing the conversation in which she might be engaged, to make it seem inevitable that Sir C. Smith, or Mr. Douglas, or Colonel Beaufort, should offer her an arm, and walk in before him. He did not quite like it; he would have preferred an open war, an attempt at explanation, or a tart retort—but she did not deign to show her dislike in words.
