privacy
Hitherto, not a word had passed between him and the intruders on his
privacy. Lady Lake seemed to enjoy his confusion too much to do anything
to relieve it, and his wife was obliged to regulate her movements by
those of her mother. Without breaking the silence, which by this time
had become painfully oppressive, he proceeded to deposit the still
inanimate person of the Countess of Exeter upon a couch, and, casting a
handkerchief, as if undesignedly, over her face, he marched quickly up
to the spot where Diego was standing, and said to him, in a deep,
determined tone, but so low as not to be overheard by the others:
