point; but you know what Lord Portmore is"; and thereupon Lady Portmore launched into a sea of all poor Lord Portmore's little stupidities, with which every one of her male friends were indulged in their turn, and which at this moment interested Teviot, as he wanted to find out that all the world were as unhappy as himself.
Lady Portmore succeeded in hardening his heart against Helen, and the day—their last day—drew to a close without a word of kindness, regret, or reconciliation. Late in the evening, Helen, driven into action by desperation, went up to her husband and Lady Portmore, who were seated in earnest conversation, and, sitting down by them, asked Lady Portmore if she meant to go early the next morning; and then, turning to Lord Teviot, asked him the same question. On his reply in the affirmative, she said kindly, "Then can I speak to you for five minutes now, as you may not have time in the morning to give me your last orders?"
"I shall leave written directions about my letters, and Griffiths knows all that is to be done here."
"There is nothing like written directions to prevent mistakes," said Lady Portmore; "I always leave a positive book with my porter. But to return to this courier I want you to take—" and they resumed their conversation.
Helen looked disappointed, but retained her seat. Mary Forrester had watched her from the work-table at which she was sitting, and saw she was in need of assistance. She glanced round, but had not the heart to disturb Ernest and Eliza, who were also taking their last talk. These finales to a large party are full of sentiment and deep pathos. Mary had only one resource, as she did not choose to take Colonel Stuart into her counsels on this or any other subject; so she walked boldly up to Lord Beaufort, who was writing letters at the end of the room, and said, "Cannot you show Lady Portmore now the print you mentioned?"
