It seemed to him beneath his own dignity and hers even to hint to an inferior a fear, a doubt, of the heiress of Laughton.

Olivier Dalibard could easily have led on his patron, he could easily, if he pleased it, have dropped words to instil suspicion and prompt question; but that was not his object,--he rather shunned than courted any reference to himself upon the matter; for he knew that Lucretia, if she could suppose that he, however indirectly, had betrayed her to her uncle, would at once declare his own suit to her, and so procure his immediate dismissal; while, aware of her powers of dissimulation and her influence over her uncle, he feared that a single word from her would suffice to remove all suspicion in Sir Miles, however ingeniously implanted, and however truthfully grounded.

But all the while, under his apparent calm, his mind was busy and his passions burning.
"Pshaw! your old play,--the bishop again," said Sir Miles, laughing, as he moved a knight to frustrate his adversary's supposed plan; and then, turning back, he once more contemplated the growing familiarity between Vernon and his niece.

This time he could not contain his pleasure.
"Dalibard, my dear sir," he said, rubbing his hands, "look yonder: they would make a handsome couple!" "Who, sir ?" said the Provencal, looking another way, with dogged stupidity.
"Who?
Damn it, man! Nay, pray forgive my ill manners, but I felt glad, sir, and proud, sir.

Who?
Charley Vernon and Lucretia Clavering." "Assuredly, yes.