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The Lady Letitia, who was preparing for her departure from Rodenham, treated her nephew very courteously, and with a species of pitying kindness that suggested how profound and melancholy her forebodings were as to the future. She had received the news of the betrothal from Richard with unruffled dignity, showing neither malice nor irritation, and even deigning to wish her nephew a happy and prosperous marriage.
"Ah, mon cher Richard," she said, sitting very stiff and straight on her brocaded fauteuil before the fire, "since I am the beaten party you must permit me to march out of Rodenham with the honors of war. I have been holding out for your liberty, sir, for you are young yet, Richard, nor have you seen a great deal of the world. There, sir, don't shake your head at me; I will cease croaking. May you and your sweet Jilian be happy."