tion, Are you, my Lord Colambre, or
are you not, related or connected with any of the St. Omars?'

'Not that I know of,' said Lord Colambre; 'but I really am so bad a
genealogist, that I cannot answer positively.'

'Then I must put the substance of my question into a new form. Have you,
or have you not, a cousin of the name of Nugent?'

'Miss Nugent!--Grace Nugent!--Yes,' said Lord Colambre, with as much
firmness of voice as he could command, and with as little change
of countenance as possible; but, as the question came upon him so
unexpectedly, it was not in his power to answer with an air of absolute
indifference and composure.

'And her mother was--' said Lady Dashfort.

'My aunt, by marriage; her maiden name was Reynolds, I think. But she
died when I was quite a child. I know very little about her. I never saw
her in my life; but I am certain she was a Reynolds.'

'Oh, my dear lord,' continued Lady Dashfort; 'I am perfectly aware that
she did take and bear the name of Reynolds; but that was not her maiden
name--her maiden name was; but perhaps it is a family secret that
has been kept, for some good reason from you, and from the poor girl
herself; the maiden name was St. Omar, depend upon it. Nay, I would not
have told this to you, my lord, if I could have conceived that it would
affect you so violently,' pursued Lady Dashfort, in a tone of raillery;
'you see you are no worse off than we are. We have an intermarriage
with the St. Omars. I did not think you would be so much shocked at
a discovery, which proves that our family and yours have some little
connexion.'

Lord Colambre endeavoured to answer, and mechanically said something
about, 'happy to have the honour.' Lady Dashfort, truly happy to see
that her blow had hit the mark so well, turned from his lordship without
seeming to observe how seriously he was affected; and Lady Isabel
sighed, and looked with compassion on Lord Colambre, and then
reproachfully at her mother. But Lord Colambre heeded not her looks, and
heard not of her sighs; he heard nothing, saw nothing, though his eyes
were intently fixed on the genealogy, on which Lady Dashfort was still
descanting to Lady Killpatrick. He took the first opportunity he could
of quitting the room, and went out to take a solitary walk.

'There he is, departed, but not in peace, to reflect upon what has been
said,' whispered Lady Dashfort to her daughter. 'I hope it will do him a
vast deal of good.'

'None