"
The artist in deceit gave a little sigh, and said, "That's more than I
dare hope. For I am here upon a most unpleasant commission; but for my
respect for your mother I would not have undertaken it, for really my
acquaintance with the other lady is but slight."
Mary looked a little surprised at this rigmarole, and said, "But this
commission, what is it?"
"Miss Bartley," said he, solemnly, yet gravely, "I have been requested to
warn you against a gentleman who is deceiving you."
"Who is that?" said Mary, on her guard directly.
"It is a Mr. Walter Clifford."
"Walter Clifford!" said Mary. "You are a slanderer; he is incapable
of deceit."
The rogue pretended to brighten up.
"Well, I hope so," said he, "and I told the lady as much; he comes from a
most honorable stock. So then he has _told_ you about Lucy Monckton?"
"Lucy Monckton!" cried Mary. "No; who is she?"
"Miss Bartley," said the villain, very gravely and solemnly, "she is
his wife."
"His wife, sir?" cried Mary, contemptuously--"his wife? You must be mad.
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