impatiently, “should I not do justice to Tressilian’s worth, before my husband’s friend—before my husband himself—before the whole world?”
“And with the same openness,” said Varney, “your ladyship will this night tell my noble lord your husband, that Tressilian has discovered your place of residence, so anxiously concealed from the world, and that he has had an interview with you?”
“Unquestionably,” said the Countess. “It will be the first thing I tell him, together with every word that Tressilian said, and that I answered. I shall speak my own shame in this, for Tressilian’s reproaches, less just than he esteemed them, were not altogether unmerited—I will speak, therefore, with pain, but I will speak, and speak all.”
“Your ladyship will do your pleasure,” answered Varney; “but methinks it were as well, since nothing calls for so frank a disclosure, to spare yourself this pain, and my noble lord the disquiet, and Master Tressilian, since belike he must be thought of in the matter, the danger which is like to ensue.”
“I can see nought of all these terrible consequences,” said the lady, composedly, “unless by imputing to my noble lord unworthy thoughts, which I am sure never harboured in his generous heart.”
“Far be it from me to do so,” said Varney.—And then, after a moment’s silence, he added, with a real or affected plainness of manner, very different from his usual smooth courtesy—“Come, madam, I will show you that a courtier dare speak truth as well as another, when it concerns the weal of those whom he honours and regards, ay, and although it
