The countess spoke the truth for once, but not the whole truth. The earl was vexed and disturbed—as well he might—he had, from the time of Georgiana's arrival, sent her out on horseback with a careful groom; and, the preceding morning, as soon as she was gone, Lady Rotheles said, as she handed the paper to her lord, "My dear, I wish you to look over the Morning Post, that we may burn it before Georgiana returns; there is a paragraph saying, that the Duchess of C——, Lady Anne Granard, and others, are getting up a fancy bazaar—fancy fair, I mean—at Brighton, which is expected to be a very gay thing, as the daughters and nieces of the ladies concerned are all the loveliest of the beau monde. Of course, Georgiana will desire to go thither, to shew off, with Helen and her mamma, and I am quite sure she has not strength for any thing of the kind."
"Fancy fair!" exclaimed her lord, angrily—"how can you name such a thing to me?"
"My dear Rotheles, it pains me to do so, certainly; but if your own sister can engage in a fancy fair, your nieces Helen and Louisa exhibit themselves at a fancy fair, surely I may call on your strength of mind and your kindness to save our sweet Georgiana from the injuries a fancy fair may bring upon her!"
Nothing could be better managed than this speech, because it complimented his lordship on that quality, in which, being notoriously deficient, he wished every body to give him credit for possessing. It also ex-
