“Spicer told me about it,” said she abruptly, as though it was not necessary to discuss any point conceded on both sides. “Your coming,” continued she, “was all the more eagerly looked for because it was necessary you should be, so far as possible, prepared for the suit we are threatened with; actions at law for ejectments on title are already announced, and great--the very greatest--inconvenience has resulted for want of formal instructions on your part.” “Is the thing really serious, Georgy?” asked he, with an unfeigned anxiety of manner. “If you only will take the trouble of reading Fordyce's two last letters,--they are very long, I confess, and somewhat difficult to understand,--you will at least see that his opinion is the reverse of favorable. In fact, he thinks the English estates are gone.” “Oh, Georgy dearest! but _you_ don't believe that?” “The Irish barony and certain lands in Cork,” resumed she, calmly, “are not included in the demand they profess to make; nor, of course, have they any claim as to the estates purchased by Lord Lackington through Mr. Dunn.” “But the title?” “The Viscounty goes with the English property.” “Good heavens! a title we have held undisturbed, unquestioned, since Edward the Third's time. I cannot bring myself to conceive it!” “Great reverses of condition can be borne with dignity when they are not of our own incurring,” said she, with a stern and pointed significance. “I'm afraid I cannot boast of possessing all your philosophy,” said he, touchily. “So much the worse. You would need it, and even more, too, if all that I have heard be true.” There was no mistaking this inference, and Beecher only hesitated whether he should accept battle at once, or wait for another broadside. “Not but,” broke she in, “if you could assure me that the rumors were untrue,--that _you_ have been calumniated, and I misinformed,--if, I say, you were enabled to do this, the tidings would help greatly to sustain me through this season of trouble.” “You must speak more plainly, Georgina, if I am to understand you.” “Are you married, Annesley?” said she, abruptly. “Yes. I hope I am of an age to enter the holy estate without leave from my relations.” “It is true, then?” said she, with a deep, full voice. “Perfectly true. And then?” There was an open defiance in this tone of questioning which seemed actually to sting her. “And then?” repeated she, after him,--“'and then?' You are right to say, 'and then?'--if that means 'What next?'” Beecher turned pale and red, as fear and passion swayed him alternately; but he never spoke.