"
"This is rich," said Wheeler. "A week ago she was guilty, and a
Machiavel in petticoats; for why? she had quarreled with her Angelo,
and packed him off to Italy. Now she is guilty; and why? because he is
not gone to Italy--not that you know whether he is or not. You reason
like a mule. As for me, I believe none of this nonsense--till you find
them together."
"And that is just what I mean to do."
"We shall see."
"You will see."
Very soon after this a country gentleman met Wheeler on market-day, and
drew him aside to ask him a question. "Do you advise Mr. Richard
Bassett still?"
"Yes."
"Did you set him to trespass on Lady Bassett's lawn, and frighten her
with a great dog in the present state of her health?"
"Heaven forbid! This is the first I've heard of such a thing."
"I am glad to hear you say that, Tom Wheeler. There, read that. Your
client deserves to be flogged out of the county, sir." And he pulled a
printed paper out of his pocket. It was dated from the Royal Hotel,
Bath, and had been printed with blanks, as follows; but a lady's hand
had filled in the dates.
"On the day ---- of ----, while I was walking alone in my garden, Mr.
Richard Bassett, the person who has bereaved me by violence of my
protector, came, without leave, into my private grounds, and brought a
very large dog; it ran to me, and frightened me so that I nearly
fainted with alarm.
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