's defence of his conduct in France. The declaration that there
had been no misbehaviour at all could not be accepted; but the news
of Mr. Romfrey's having installed Nevil in Holdesbury to manage that
property, and of his having mooted to her father the question of an
alliance between her and Nevil, was wonderful. Rosamund could not say
what answer her father had made: hardly favourable, Cecilia supposed,
since he had not spoken of the circumstance to her. But Mr. Romfrey's
influence with him would certainly be powerful.

It was to be assumed, also, that Nevil had been consulted by his uncle.
Rosamund said full-heartedly that this alliance had for years been her
life's desire, and then she let the matter pass, nor did she once loop
at Cecilia searchingly, or seem to wish to probe her. Cecilia disagreed
with Rosamund on an insignificant point in relation to something
Mr. Romfrey and Captain Baskelett had done, and, as far as she could
recollect subsequently, there was a packet of letters, or a pocket-book
containing letters of Nevil's which he had lost, and which had been
forwarded to Mr. Romfrey; for the pocket-book was originally his, and
his address was printed inside. But among these letters was one from
Dr. Shrapnel to Nevil: a letter so horrible that Rosamund frowned at the
reminiscence of it, holding it to be too horrible for the quotation of
a sentence. She owned she had forgotten any three consecutive words. Her
known dislike of Captain Baskelett, however, was insufficient to make
her see that it was unjustifiable in him to run about London reading it,
with comments of the cruellest. Rosamund's greater detestation of Dr.
Shrapnel blinded her to the offence committed by the man she would
otherwise have been very ready to scorn. So small did the circumstance
appear to Cecilia, notwithstanding her gentle opposition at the time she
listened to it, that she never thought of mentioning it to her father,
and only remembered it when Captain Baskelett, with Lord Palmet in his
company, presented himself at Mount Laurels, and proposed to the colonel
to read to him 'a letter from that scoundrelly old Shrapnel to Nevil
Beauchamp, upon women, wives, thrones, republics, British loyalty,
et caetera,'--an et caetera that rolled a series of tremendous
reverberations down the list of all things held precious by freeborn
Englishmen.

She would have prevented the reading. But the colonel would have it.

'Read on,' said he. 'Mr. Ro