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est 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 concili-
ate 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 Quix-
ote 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

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