The girl made no reply; she was not evidently accustomed to see many visiters there.
"Could I see any one to leave it with, or write a note?" he asked.
"If you would please to step in, sir; I dare say you can write to master," she said, drawing back. Lord Randolph wanted no further invitation. In an instant he was following the girl down the passage.
CHAPTER XXIII.
The girl threw open a door, and he entered; his heart was not quite free from pulsation. He was not a man of adventure by nature—two or three motives urged him to this one. The room was quietly, but gracefully furnished; the curtains were not of rich damask, neither were there rich bronzes, ormolu, or tables to break one's neck over, or shiver to atoms in the fall thereof half a dozen hideous idols, or Chinese cups and saucers—no! it was not a company receiving-room, but the apartment of a refined and domestic mind. The two generally unite, for they emanate from our best mistress—Nature. The curtains and furniture were of pale green chintz. There were a few choice flowers in a vase on the table; one single dahlia, rich in colour, alone, like a queen in state and beauty, in a rich Bohemian glass, on a centre table; and, like attendant courtiers, in various smaller ones, were varied specimens scattered about amidst books, pencils, half-finished bouquets, shewing why they were there—for art to perpetuate nature. There were ottomans, easy-chairs, and ladies' work; in short, home spoke to you in every thing. There was an open piano, and music scattered about; and the tables, piano, even to the frames of the mirrors, were of maple-wood. Another door opened into a small conservatory with stained glass windows—it was, in truth, a little paradise. A cheering fire enlivened the whole—for though a fine day, it was chilly; yet the sun shone without, and in the bright conservatory, where summer seemed still to reign. "You can write a note here, sir, if you please," said the woman, placing materials before him; "and when you have finished it, if you will be good enough to ring the bell, I will return." Thus saying, and not having a fear of those adventurous knights called London thieves before her eyes, she withdrew quietly. Every thing there breathed peace, even the placid servant.
"What shall I write?" thought Lord Randolph. "What a fool I was, not to ask to see the mistress of the house! it is not too late; by George, I'll do so now!" He rose to touch the bell, a voice arrested his hand; it was breathless, as if the owner had hurried; it came through the conservatory, and a step, like a bounding roe, accompanied it. "Miles, dear!" it cried, "have you forgotten any thing? I heard your rap. I was at the end of the garden gathering violets,"—the step stopped suddenly, "Oh, dear!" exclaimed the voice changing its tone, "I declare I've lost them all out of my basket, hurrying to meet you! Come, and help me pick them up!" There was an instant's silence, the visiter stood irresolute, his eyes fixed on the conservatory door. "Miles!" called the voice again; there was no reply, and in another instant Minnie, with eyes full of hope and surprise, entered the room. A scream burst from her lips, and her basket fell from her hands. Lord Randolph stood a moment speechless. "Miss Dalzell!" he exclaimed at last; advancing like one treading on fairy-land, so amazed he felt. Minnie was like a rose when she entered, and her eyes looked almost black in their violet darkness from exercise and excitement. Now she became pale and trembling, why, she scarcely knew, 'twas perhaps presentiment. "Lord Randolph Gray!" she ejaculated, "you here!"—the very words implied deep fear of consequences.
"I certainly did not anticipate the happiness of meeting one so soon again, whose memory has lived with me unfading since yesterday," he answered with the ready gallantry of a man who deemed it could not but be well received where he addressed it. There was admiration, not respect in the phrase. Even unsophisticated Minnie felt this; but so bewildered was she, that for the time she totally overlooked her actual position as it must be in his eyes, thus, with Tremenhere, as Miss Dalzell. "Do not let me alarm you," he continued courteously, seeing how pale she had turned; "believe me, I am too much a gentleman in any way to insult you. My meeting you again, though indeed I bless the good fate which has produced it, has been purely accidental. I came to see Mr. Tremenhere."
"Then, my——" she checked the word uppermost, "cousin," scarcely knowing why, "Lady Dora Vaughan," she substituted, "did not tell you where I resided? I thought so for a moment, and wondered much, she was so fearful yesterday, lest your lordship should follow us."
"What can the connection between these women mean?" he thought, every moment more perplexed.