Tis gone, but it frowned like the harbinger of
a storm. Again! A small but blood-red blush rises into that clear cheek.
It was momentary, but its deep colour indicated that it came from the
heart. Her eye lights up with a wild and glittering fire, but the flash
vanishes into darkness, and gloom follows the unnatural light. She
clasps her hands; she rises from an uneasy seat, though supported by a
thousand pillows, and she paces the conservatory.
A guest is announced. It is Sir Lucius Grafton.
He salutes her with that studied courtesy which shows they are only
friends, but which, when maintained between intimate acquaintance,
sometimes makes wicked people suspect that they once perhaps were more.
She resumes her seat, and he throws himself into an easy chair which is
opposite.
'Your note I this moment received, Bertha, and I am here. You perceive
that my fidelity is as remarkable as ever.'
'We had a gay meeting last night.'
'Very much so. So Lady Araminta has at last shown mercy.'
'I cannot believe it.'
'I have just had a note from Challoner, preliminary, I suppose, to
my trusteeship.
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