"Is she then so beautiful?" asked his host eagerly.
"I tell you this, my lord," was the emphatic reply. "I have seen much beauty, many portraits—I cannot in honest truth except even Lady Dora—I never saw any one to equal Mrs. Tremenhere, as they call her."
"By George!" exclaimed his lordship, throwing his cigar in the fire—the words and action, spoke volumes of emotion, for him.
Dalby saw his scheme had taken root; curiosity leads to more real mischief than many another actual vice—he rose.
"Don't go yet; here, smoke another cigar before you go: it is early—not twelve."
"My dear lord, I was up early; we hard-working men are unused to these late hours of luxury. I am dead beat to-night," and he yawned convulsively, for no sleep was near his brain; it was waking, and watching every thing. He had done enough for one night; he would leave his lordship food for reflection. He had several aims in view—to revenge himself on Minnie, was one; but to serve Marmaduke, by driving Tremenhere out of England, was the principal object, thus securing a safe friend and patron to himself. This too, he did, with Lord Randolph, who saw nothing of the wickedness of the plot or plotters. He was ready to run into any mischief, for no particular motive, only from sheer idleness; and he was in good hands to lead him astray. With Tremenhere, he felt quite indignant; and firmly resolved, as soon as practicable, to cut the fellow. He had ordered this "Aurora;" so he must take it. Meanwhile, he would be very cool when they met, and let him comprehend that any attention he had received had been condescension, not equality.
CHAPTER XXII.
Two days after these events, the lady portion of visiters quitted Uplands—some went one way, some another. Lady Lysson's chaperonage was over, so she, too, quitted her bachelor nephew's, and left him to his male companions, dogs and horses, for a while longer. Dalby remained, and a worse than himself returned—Marmaduke Burton; worse too, that he was more on an equality with their host than Dalby. He could work openly; yet, too, the coward trembled lest Tremenhere should ever discover his share in the nefarious plot—which plot we shall now permit to work itself out, without further explanation.
Lady Dora's better genius triumphed when she quitted Uplands. Something remained painfully on her mind after her conversation with Miles. His indignant pride debased her to her true littleness of conduct, and the really good-nature, had it not been biased by a worldly mother, triumphed; and one day her quiet, well-appointed brougham, which she chose in preference to their britscha, as being less ostentatious, and in better taste for her expedition, drove up to Tremenhere's pretty cottage at Chiswick. Minnie was alone; he had gone to town on business. She, all affection and forgiveness, had a singular memory in these times of heartlessness and calculation; she always forgot the bad, and held a bright sunny spot for the good deeds of all. In an instant she was in Dora's arms, her own round the other's neck, and her bright face, dimpling like a child's, and as innocent, held upwards for the kiss of peace.