In the course of their rambles through that crowd, Lady Dora found herself on Tremenhere's arm, whose eye was searching every where for his mysterious domino. In spite of himself, she pre-occupied his mind; but amidst the dozens there, he failed to see any one at all resembling her, either in dress or that nameless grace perceptible in every undulation, of her unrelieved disguise.
"You are pre-occupied, Mr. Tremenhere," she said, after half a dozen absent replies had escaped his lips.
"Pardon me; I am boyish enough to be amused at this scene."
"One would not think it, for I never beheld a more seeking, anxious countenance—possibly you would prefer solitude."
"Solitude, and here? Lady Dora."
"Yes—Byron's."
"Oh! 'with some sweet spirit for my minister?' Nay, if that were the case, where find a fairer than the one who for awhile blesses me?" and he almost pressed her arm; and, aroused by her questioning, became Tremenhere as the world had made him.
"I certainly am pre-occupied," he said at last, "by that black domino, with whom you found me so very quietly tête-à-tête. The rose is emblematical in this case—a wild mystery."
"Oh! Lady Lysson, I make no doubt, was correct. Some one of our maids has made an escapade; and, proving the rose's privilege, has intrigued you."
"Assuredly, she was no servant; but her sudden disappearance when you came puzzles me. Let us talk of something else; it would be madness in me to waste these moments on another, when I have so few accorded me in your society. Lady Dora, tell me, does this amuse you, much?"