She was silent and smiling, and he instantly recovered himself. “I ask your pardon,” he said, releasing her and bowing gravely; “but you are one of the family, you know, and I have been long away, and am so glad to get home again that some liberty must be excused me.”
“Oh, indeed!” she answered, with a pretty pout, “I think the apology is the worst part of the business,” and she looked into his eyes with that steady, unwinking gaze which none withstand. Then he drew her closer, and said softly, “You are simply bewildering to-night, Annabel. How have you made yourself so beautiful?” As he spoke he led her to her seat, and drew a chair close to her side; and the cat leaped to his knee and began to loudly purr her satisfaction in her master’s return.
“Are you alone to-night?” he asked. “Or perhaps you are expecting company?”
“I am alone. I expected no company; but Destiny loves surprises, and to-night she has surpassed herself. The Duchess has gone to Lady Paget’s. I could not sacrifice myself so far. You know what her political nights are. And if it is not Relief Bills, and Reform Bills, then it is Mr. Clarkson and Anti-Slavery; and we are solemnly told to make little petticoats for the negro children if we desire to go to heaven.” She laughed, and dropped her eyes, and was silent; and the silence grew dangerous. Fortunately, she herself broke the spell by asking Piers if he had seen Squire Atheling in Yorkshire.
“We came from Yorkshire together,” he said. Then he began to talk about the election, and in a few minutes a butler announced his dinner, and Annabel’s hour was over.
She was not disappointed. “We went far enough,” she thought. “I am not yet ready to put my hand out further than I can draw it back. I cannot give up Cecil now; he is the only private pleasure I have. Every other thing I share with the Duchess, or somebody else. And Piers I should have to share with her and the Duke. As heir to the dukedom, they will always retain a right in his time and interests. No, Lord Exham, not yet–not yet.”
She rose with the words, and went to the piano and dashed off in splendid style that famous old military fantasia, “The Battle of Prague.” And the drift of her uncontrolled thoughts during it may be guessed by the first query she made of her intelligence when the noisy music ceased:–
“I wonder what the Athelings are doing? Piers says the Squire is at home. I suppose Mrs. Atheling and Kate are coddling, and petting, and feeding him.”
In some respects Annabel judged fairly well. The Squire reached his home about the same time that Lord Exham arrived at Richmoor House, and found Mrs. Atheling waiting to receive him. He made no secret of his joy in seeing her again. “I was afraid thou mightst be gadding about somewhere, Maude,” he said. “It is pleasant to find thee at home.”
“John Atheling!”