"I will read you my riddle, then. You are a widow, rich; as women go, you
are not so unpleasant to look at as most of 'em. If it became a clergyman
to dwell upon such matters, I would say that your fleshly habitation is
too fine for its tenant, since I know you to be a good-for-nothing jilt.
However, you are God's handiwork, and doubtless He had His reasons for
constructing you. My Lord is poor; last summer at Tunbridge you declined to
marry him. I am in his confidence, you observe. He took your decision in
silence--'ware Rokesle when he is quiet! Eh, I know the man,--'tisn't for
nothing that these ten years past I have studied his whims, pampered his
vanity, lied to him, toadied him! You admire my candor?--faith, yes, I
am very candid. I am Rokesle's hanger-on; he took me out of the gutter,
and in my fashion I am grateful. And you?--Anastasia, had you treated me
more equitably fifteen years ago, I would have gone to the stake for you,
singing; now I don't value you the flip of a farthing. But, for old time's
sake, I warn you. You and your brother are Rokesle's guests--on Usk!
Harry Heleigh [Footnote: Henry Heleigh, thirteenth Earl of Brudenel, who
succeeded his cousin the twelfth Earl in 1759, and lived to a great age.
Bavois, writing in 1797, calls him "a very fine, strong old gentleman."]
can handle a sword, I grant you,--but you are on Usk! And Mrs. Morfit is
here to play propriety--propriety on Usk, God save the mark! And besides,
Rokesle can twist his sister about his little finger, as the phrase runs.
And I find sentinels at the door! I don't like it, Anastasia. In his way
Rokesle loves you; more than that, you are an ideal match to retrieve his
battered fortunes; and the name of my worthy patron, I regret to say, is
not likely ever to embellish the Calendar of Saints."

Simon Orts paused with a short laugh. The woman had risen to her feet,
her eyes widening and a thought troubled, though her lips smiled
contemptuously.