She had hardly ceased to talk to Mary of the infinite good qualities of the young squire, and especially of his prowess in the matter of Mr Moffat.

Mary had listened to all this eloquence, not perhaps with inattention, but without much reply.

She had not been exactly sorry to hear Frank talked about; indeed, had she been so minded, she could herself have said something on the same subject; but she did not wish to take Lady Scatcherd altogether into her confidence, and she had been unable to say much about Frank Gresham without doing so.

Lady Scatcherd had, therefore, gradually conceived the idea that her darling was not a favourite with her guest.
Now, therefore, she changed the subject; and, as her own son was behaving with such unexampled propriety, she dropped Frank and confined her eulogies to Louis.

He had been a little wild, she admitted; young men so often were so; but she hoped that it was now over.
"He does still take a little drop of those French drinks in the morning," said Lady Scatcherd, in her confidence; for she was too honest to be false, even in her own cause.