“Mr. Vincent?--He knew that I came to attend your ladyship. I told him that you had been confined by a nervous fever, and that it would be impossible for me to see him at present; but I promised, when you could spare me, to return to Oakly-park.” Lady Delacour sighed, and opened Clarence Hervey’s letters one after another, looking over them without seeming well to know what she was about. Lord Delacour came into the room whilst these letters were still in her hand. He had been absent since the preceding morning, and he now seemed as if he were just come home, much fatigued. He began in a tone of great anxiety to inquire after Lady Delacour’s health. She was piqued at his having left home at such a time, and, merely bowing her head to him, she went on reading. His eyes glanced upon the letters which she held in her hand; and when he saw the well-known writing of Clarence Hervey, his manner immediately altered, and, stammering out some common-place phrases, he threw himself into an arm-chair by the fireside, protesting that he was tired to death--that he was half dead--that he had been in a post-chaise for three hours, which he hated--had ridden fifty miles since yesterday; and he muttered that he was a fool for his pains--an observation which, though it reached her ladyship’s ears, she did not think proper to contradict. His lordship had then recourse to his watch, his never-failing friend in need, which he always pulled out with a particular jerk when he was vexed. “It is time for me to be gone--I shall be late at Studley’s.” “You dine with his lordship then?” said Lady Delacour, in a careless tone. “Yes; and his good burgundy, I hope, will wind me up again,” said he, stretching himself, “for I am quite down.” “Quite down? Then we may conclude that my friend Mrs. Luttridge is not yet come to _Rantipole_. Rantipole, my dear,” continued Lady Delacour, turning to Miss Portman, “is the name of Harriot Freke’s villa in Kent. However strange it may sound to your ears and mine, I can assure you the name has _made fortune_ amongst a certain description of wits. And candour must allow that, if not elegant, it is appropriate; it gives a just idea of the manners and way of life of the place, for every thing at Rantipole is rantipole. But I am really concerned, my lord, you should have ridden yourself down in this way for nothing. Why did not you get better intelligence before you set out? I am afraid you feel the loss of Champfort. Why did not you contrive to learn for certain, my dear good lord, whether _the Luttridge_ was at Rantipole, before you set out on this wild goose chase?”