e." At this
moment another man booted and spurred came down the passage, upon
whom Lady Monk smiled sweetly, speaking some pretty little word as
he passed. Burgo spoke never a word, but still stood leaning against
the wall, with his hand to his forehead, showing that he had heard
something which had moved him greatly. "Come back into your room,
Burgo," said his aunt; and they both went in at the door that was
nearest to them, for Lady Monk had been on the look-out for him, and
had caught him as soon as he appeared in the passage. "If this does
annoy you, you should keep it to yourself! What will people say?"

"How can I help what they say?"

"But you would not wish to injure her, I suppose? I thought it best
to tell you, for fear you should show any special sign of surprise
if you heard of it first in public. It is very weak in you to allow
yourself to feel that sort of regard for a married woman. If you
cannot constrain yourself I shall be afraid to let you meet her in
Brook Street."

Burgo looked for a moment into his aunt's face without answering her,
and then turned away towards the door. "You can do as you please
about that," said he; "but you know as well as I do what I have made
up my mind to do."

"Nonsense, Burgo; I know nothing of the kind. But do you go
down-stairs to breakfast, and don't look like that when you go among
the people there."

Lady Monk was a woman now about fifty years of age, who had been a
great beauty, and who was still handsome in her advanced age. Her
figure was very good. She was tall and of fine proportion, though by
no means verging to that state of body which our excellent American
friend and critic Mr Hawthorne has described as beefy and has
declared to be the general condition of English ladies of Lady Monk's
age. Lady Monk was not beefy. She was a comely, handsome, upright,
dame,--one of whom, as regards her outward appearance, England might
be proud,--and of whom Sir Cosmo Monk was very proud. She had come of
the family of the Worcestershire Fitzgeralds, of whom it used to be
said that there never was one who was not beautiful and worthless.
Looking at Lady Monk you would hardly think that she could be a
worthless woman; but there were one or two who professed to know her,
and who declared that she was a true scion of the family to which she
belonged;--that even her husband's ample fortune had suffered from
her extravagance, that she had quarrelled with her only son, and
ha