“I recognised you in church on Sunday. I am sorry that any local disputes of Sir Leicester's—they are not of his seeking, however, I believe—should render it a matter of some absurd difficulty to show you any attention here.”
“I am aware of the circumstances,” returned my guardian with a smile, “and am sufficiently obliged.”
She had given him her hand, in an indifferent way that seemed habitual to her, and spoke in a correspondingly indifferent manner, though in a very pleasant voice. She was as graceful as she was beautiful; perfectly self-possessed; and had the air, I thought, of being able to attract and interest any one, if she had thought it worth her while. The keeper had brought her a chair, on which she sat, in the middle of the porch between us.
“Is the young gentleman disposed of, whom you wrote to Sir Leicester about, and whose wishes Sir Leicester was sorry not to have it in his power to advance in any way?” she said, over her shoulder, to my guardian.
“I hope so,” said he.
She seemed to respect him, and even to wish to conciliate him. There was something very winning in her haughty manner; and it became more familiar—I was going to say more easy, but that could hardly be—as she spoke to him over her shoulder.
“I presume this is your other ward, Miss Clare?”
He presented Ada, in form.
“You will lose the disinterested part of your Don Quixote character,” said Lady Dedlock to Mr. Jarndyce, over her shoulder again, “if you only redress the wrongs of beauty like this. But present me,” and she turned full upon me, “to this young lady too!”
“Miss Summerson really is my ward,” said Mr. Jarndyce. “I am responsible to no Lord Chancellor in her case.”
“Has Miss Summerson lost both her parents?” said my Lady.
“Yes.”
“She is very fortunate in her guardian.”
Lady Dedlock looked at me, and I looked at her, and said I was indeed. All at once she turned from me with a hasty air, almost expressive of displeasure or dislike, and spoke to him over her shoulder again.
“Ages have passed since we were in the habit of meeting, Mr. Jarndyce.”
“A long time. At least I thought it was a long time, until I saw you last Sunday,” he returned.
“What! Even you are a courtier, or think it necessary to become one to me!” she said, with some disdain. “I have achieved that reputation, I suppose.”
“You have achieved so much. Lady Dedlock,” said my guardian, “that you pay some little penalty, I dare say. But, none to me.”
“So much!” she repeated, slightly laughing. “Yes!”
With her air of superiority, and power, and fascination, and I know not what, she seemed to regard Ada and me as little more than children. So, as she slightly laughed, and afterwards sat looking at the rain, she was as self-possessed, and as free to occupy herself with her own thoughts, as if she had been alone.
