'But I didn't promise to tell a lie,' said Mrs
Trevelyan. And there were interviews between Lady Milborough and
Trevelyan, and interviews between Lady Milborough and Nora Rowley. The
poor dear old dowager was exceedingly busy and full of groans,
prescribing Naples, prescribing a course of extra prayers, prescribing
a general course of letting bygones be bygones to which, however,
Trevelyan would by no means assent without some assurance, which he
might regard as a guarantee, prescribing retirement to a small town in
the west of France, if Naples would not suffice; but she could effect
nothing.
Mrs Trevelyan, indeed, did a thing which was sure of itself to render
any steps taken for a reconciliation ineffectual. In the midst of all
this turmoil while she and her husband were still living in the same
house, but apart because of their absurd quarrel respecting Colonel
Osborne, she wrote another letter to that gentleman. The argument by
which she justified this to herself, and to her sister after it was
done, was the real propriety of her own conduct throughout her whole
intimacy with Colonel Osborne.
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