"For shame, Kate!" exclaimed Charlotte Pain. "Ghostly things! Oh, I see--you were laughing." "Is it not enough to make us all laugh--these tales of the Godolphins? But I shall convert it into a pretext for not being left alone here when you and Verrall are away. Why do you go, Charlotte?" Mrs. Verrall added, in a tone which had changed to marked significance. "It is waste of time." Charlotte Pain would not notice the innuendo. "I never was in Scotland, and shall like the visit," she said, picking up the King Charles again. "I enjoy fine scenery: you do not care for it." "Oh," said Mrs. Verrall; "it is scenery that draws you, is it? Take you care, Charlotte." "Care of what?" "Shall I tell you? You must not fly into one of your tempers and pull my hair. You are growing too fond of George Godolphin." Charlotte Pain gave no trace of "flying into a temper;" she remained perfectly cool and calm. "Well?" was all she said, her lip curling. "If it would bring you any good; if it would end in your becoming Mrs. George Godolphin; I should say _well_; go into it with your whole heart and energy. But it will not so end; and your time and plans are being wasted." "Has he told you so much?" ironically asked Charlotte. "Nonsense! There was one in possession of the field before you, Charlotte--if my observation goes for anything. _She_ will win the race; you will not even be in at the distance chair. I speak of Maria Hastings." "You speak of what you know nothing," carelessly answered Charlotte Pain, a self-satisfied smile upon her lips. "Very well. When it is all over, and you find your time _has_ been wasted, do not say I never warned you. George Godolphin may be a prize worth entering the lists for; I do not say he is not: but there is no chance of your winning him." Charlotte Pain tossed the dog upwards and caught him as he descended, a strange look of triumph on her brow. "And--Charlotte," went on Mrs. Verrall in a lower tone, "there is a proverb, you know, about two stools. We _may_ fall to the ground if we try to sit upon both at once. How would Dolf like this expedition to Scotland, handsome George making one in it?" Charlotte's eyes flashed now. "I care no more for Dolf than I care for--not half so much as I care for this poor little brute. Don't bring up Dolf to me, Kate!" "As you please. I would not mix myself up with your private affairs for the world. Only a looker-on sometimes sees more than those engaged in the play." Crossing the apartment, Mrs. Verrall traversed the passage that led from it, and opened the door of another room. There sat her husband at the dessert-table, taking his wine alone, and smoking a cigar. He was a slight man, twice the age of his wife, his hair and whiskers yellow, and his eyes set deep in his head: rather a good-looking man on the whole, but a very silent one. "I want to go to London with you," said Mrs. Verrall. "You can't," he answered.