Lady Dashfort, who had always, as old Reynolds expressed it, 'her
head upon her shoulders'--presence of mind where her interests were
concerned--ran to the door before the count and Lord Colambre could
enter, giving a hand to each--as if they had all parted the best friends
in the world.
'How do? how do?--Give you joy! give me joy! and all that. But mind! not
a word,' said she, laying her finger upon her lips--'not a word before
Heathcock of old Reynolds, or of the best part of the old fool,--his
fortune!'
The gentlemen bowed, in sign of submission to her ladyship's commands;
and comprehended that she feared Heathcock might be OFF, if the best
part of his bride (her fortune, or her EXPECTATIONS) were lowered in
value or in prospect.
'How low is she reduced,' whispered Lord Colambre, 'when such a husband
is thought a prize--and to be secured by a manoeuvre!' He sighed.
'Spare that generous sigh!' said Sir James Brooke; 'it is wasted.'
Lady Isabel, as they approached, turned from a mirror, at which she
was trying on a diamond crescent. Her face clouded at sight of Count
O'Halloran and Lord Colambre, and grew dark as hatred when she saw Sir
James Brooke.
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