He fixed his eyes on her, with the stern look of one judging her severely. She dropped her's carelessly on the figures of her fan. He rose, and moved a step towards the other group. A sudden impulse impelled her to exclaim hastily, "Mr. Tremenhere!" He stopped, and coldly turned towards her—"Can I oblige your ladyship in any thing?"
"Mr. Tremenhere," she continued hastily, beneath her breath, while her bosom swelled with her self-imposed task; "pray, be seated an instant, I have a word to say to you."
He bowed, and placing himself on the music-stool, awaited her next words in cold silence. She leaned towards him; then glancing at the others present, whose number was momentarily increasing, she whispered, moving to give him place beside her, and pointing to it with her fan, "I wish to speak confidentially to you."
"Of yourself?" he asked, surprised, seating himself where she pointed.
"No," she replied, drawing herself up in offended pride; "I should not presume to trouble you with my personal affairs, Mr. Tremenhere."
"You cannot wonder," he rejoined, "at my feeling the utmost surprise how mine can in any way interest your ladyship."
"I would speak of my cousin," she faltered.
"Oh!" and he smiled; "true—of my wife; it will scarcely astonish you if I say, I had totally forgotten the relationship for the moment."
"Let there be a truce of sarcasms," she said, hurriedly. "You judge me harshly, I make no doubt; but there are many things which make this union a most unfortunate, much to be regretted one."
"Pardon me, Lady Dora Vaughan, not to those most interested. I can boldly assert my happiness is a realized dream of paradise: my only sorrow, is in absence from the home Minnie makes such to me; and I think I may venture to declare, that no sigh of regret ever quivers on her lip. Those she justly prized have not forgotten her—Aunt Dorcas, for one."