It was quite true that Lady May was not at home. She was actually, with a little charming palpitation, driving to pay a very interesting visit to Grace Maubray. In affairs of the kind that now occupied her mind, she had no confidants but very young people.
Miss Maubray was at homeand instantly Lady May's plump instep was seen on the carriage step. She disdained assistance, and descended with a heavy skip upon the flags, where she executed an involuntary frisk that carried her a little out of the line of advance.
As she ascended the stairs, she met her friend Lord Wynderbroke coming down. They stopped for a moment on the landing, under a picture of Cupid and Venus; Lady May, smiling, remarked, a little out of breath, what a charming day it was, and expressed her amazement at seeing him in towna surprise which he agreeably reciprocated. He had been at Glenkiltie in the Highlands, where he had accidentally met Mr. David Arden. Miss Maubray is in the drawing-room, he said, observing that the eyes of the good lady glanced unconsciously upward at the door of that room. And then they parted affectionately, and turned their backs on each other with a sense of relief.
Well, my dear, she said to Grace Maubray as soon as they had kissed, longing to have a few minutes with you, with ever so much to say. You have no idea what it is to be stopped on the stairs by that tiresome manI'll never quarrel with you again for calling him a bore. No matter, here I am; and really, my dear, it is such an odd affairnot quite that; such an odd scene, I don't know where or how to begin.
I wish I could help you, said Miss Maubray laughing.
Oh, my dear, you'd never guess in a hundred years.
She opened the door of the boudoir adjoining the room.
I'll send him away in a moment. You may hear every word I have to say. I should like itI shall give him a lecture.
As she thus spoke she heard his step on the stair, and motioned Lady May into the inner room, into which she hurried and closed the door, leaving it only a little way open.
These arrangements are hardly completed when Sir Richard is announced. Grace is positively angry. But never had she looked so beautiful; her eyes so tenderly lustrous under their long lashes; her colour so brilliantan expression so maidenly and sad. If it was acting, it was very well done. You would have sworn that the melancholy and agitation of her looks, and the slightly quickened movement of her breathing, were those of a person who felt that the hour of her fate had come.
With what elation Richard Arden saw these beautiful signs!