“Well, my lady, to be short, then--I was more curious than ever, when I heard all this, to hear more; and asked my friend how she could ever think of staying in a house with ladies of such a description! Upon which she justified herself by assuring me, upon her honour, that at first she believed the young lady was married privately to Mr. Hervey, for that a clergyman came in secret, and read prayers, and she verily believes that the unfortunate young creature was deceived barbarously, and made to fancy herself married to all intents and purposes, till all at once Mr. Hervey threw off the mask, and left off visiting her, pretending a necessity to take a journey, and handing her over to that vile woman, that Mrs. Ormond, who bid her to be comforted, and all the things that are said by such women, on such occasions, by all accounts. But the poor deluded young thing saw how it was now too plain, and she was ready to break her heart; but not in a violent, common sort of way, ma’am, but in silent grief, pining and drooping. My friend could not stand the sight, nor endure to look upon Mrs. Ormond now she knew what she was; and so she left the house, without giving any reason, immediately. I forgot to mention, that the unfortunate girl’s maiden name was St. Pierre, my lady: but her Christian name, which was rather an out o’ the way name, I quite forget.” “No matter,” said Lady Delacour; “we can live without it; or we can imagine it.” “To be sure--I beg pardon; such sort of people’s names can’t be of any consequence, and, I’m sure, I blame myself now for going to the house, after all I had heard.” “You did go to the house, then?”