“He must go to the club for an hour, madame. When you arrive at the house, he will without doubt be there.”
Mercedes sat silent till the close of the act, then she rose abruptly, held out her hand to Lady Forwood, said “Adieu, monsieur,” with a melancholy little smile, to Hugh, and left the box on the count’s arm.
“Well?” said Lady Forwood, eagerly, when the two were alone.
“Well?” he repeated, coolly.
Some glamour, under the influence of which he had unbent—had forgotten his ordinary almost apathy to his surroundings—had passed away. He was on guard again.
“Tell me frankly what you think of her. I love her so much!” said Lady Forwood, eagerly and honestly.
“There is nothing the matter with her—physically,” said Hugh.
“But—mentally?”
“As I told her husband, I do not profess to cure the mind.”
“Do you not see how miserable she is, Dr. Paull? We must do something for her,” said Lady Forwood, energetically. “You can, even more than I. She wants friends. She wants some powerful mind to control hers, and lead her to live her own life, without reference to the prince. That wretched young man! He neglects her shamefully; and how he can throw her with that count as he does—everyone is talking about it!”