"That is easy; he left for New York this evening, and I go forward to Canada. Is there nothing more difficult by which I can prove my gratitude?"
"Yes; tell me all that has passed between you and this Mr. Leicester, but not here—let us walk down into the drawing-room."
A few moments after, Mrs. Sykes drew softly up to Mrs. Nash, with one of her sweetest smiles: "His lordship, after all, glides back to his own countrywomen; we Americans stand no chance," she said.
Mrs. Nash bit her lip, and gave the folds of her gold-colored moire a backward sweep with her hand.
"I fancy the earl is not anxious to extend his attention beyond its present limit; I always said she was worth knowing. Mrs. Gordon seems an old acquaintance. We may, perhaps, now find out who she really is; I will ask him in the morning."
"Do!" cried half a dozen voices—"we always thought her somebody, but really, she quite patronises the earl himself: do ask all about her, when his lordship comes back."
It was a vain request—the young earl had left the ball-room for good; and long before the persons grouped around Mrs. Nash had left their beds in the morning, he was passing up Lake Champlain, sleepily regarding the scenery along its shore.
That same morning, Mrs. Gordon left Saratoga, so early that no one witnessed her departure. But two or three young men, who had finished up their fancy ball in the open air, reported that she was seen at daybreak, on the colonnade, talking very earnestly to her tall, awkward serving-man, for more than half an hour.
Mrs. Gordon—for thus the lady continued to be known—came to New York early in the autumn, and in the great emporium began a new phase of her erratic and brilliant life.