hafing of a grievous itch, is not less
old than sin; and it offers a merry day of frisky truant running to
the animal made unashamed by another and another stripped, branded, and
stretched flat. Sir Lukin read of Mr. and Mrs. W. and a distinguished
Peer of the realm. The paragraph was brief; it had a flavour. Promise
of more to come, pricked curiosity. He read it enraged, feeling for his
wife; and again indignant, feeling for Diana. His third reading found
him out: he felt for both, but as a member of the whispering world, much
behind the scenes, he had a longing for the promised insinuations, just
to know what they could say, or dared say. The paper was not shown to
Lady Dunstane. A run to London put him in the tide of the broken dam of
gossip. The names were openly spoken and swept from mouth to mouth of
the scandalmongers, gathering matter as they flew. He knocked at Diana's
door, where he was informed that the mistress of the house was absent.
More than official gravity accompanied the announcement. Her address was
unknown. Sir Lukin thought it now time to tell his wife. He began with
a hesitating circumlocution, in order to prepare her mind for bad news.
She divined immediately that it concerned Diana, and forcing him to
speak to the point, she had the story jerked out to her in a sentence.
It stopped her heart.

The chill of death was tasted in that wavering ascent from oblivion
to recollection. Why had not Diana come to her, she asked herself, and
asked her husband; who, as usual, was absolutely unable to say. Under
compulsory squeezing, he would have answered, that she did not come
because she could not fib so easily to her bosom friend: and this he
thought, notwithstanding his personal experience of Diana's generosity.
But he had other personal experiences of her sex, and her sex plucked at
the bright star and drowned it.

The happy day of Lord Dannisburgh's visit settled in Emma's belief as
the cause of Mr. Warwick's unpardonable suspicions and cruelty. Arguing
from her own sensations of a day that had been like the return of sweet
health to her frame, she could see nothing but the loveliest freakish
innocence in Diana's conduct, and she recalled her looks, her words,
every fleeting gesture, even to the ingenuousness of the noble
statesman's admiration of her, for the confusion of her unmanly and
unworthy husband. And Emma was nevertheless a thoughtful person; only
her heart was at the head of her thoughts, a