Lord Rivers gave her a side-long glance.
"There'd be the devil to pay," said Delrose, savagely, as he sank heavily into the chair behind them; folding his arms on the back of their sofa, and between them, and leaning forward.
"You look black enough to be his dun," said Lord Rivers, carelessly.
As Sir Lionel ceased speaking, a lady, in the garb of a cloistered nun, and closely veiled, had entered with slow, uncertain step; Sir Andrew Clarke, stepping forward, offered a seat, saying, "Allow me; you seem about to faint."
"No; I thank you," she said hurriedly, "I feel quite well again, with the exception of a slight dizziness."
But in a moment, Trevalyon is beside her, whose arm she quietly takes, while he led her up the long drawing rooms, the cynosure of all eyes, giving her at the head of the room, an easy chair. At the first sound of the voice of the nun, Delrose had started violently, muttering,
"By thunder, her voice, but no! not from behind a nun's veil."
"Unveil the statue, Delrose," whispered Lord Rivers; for society was watching and listening with itching ears for more, and a pinfall could have been heard.
"Unveil her, she'll let you, if she have any charms to show," he continued lazily.
"My dear boy, do keep quiet; or perhaps you'd like to run away till the farce is over," said Madame, caressingly, for she has a penchant for the peer beside her; he is a new distraction and will amuse her until she can secure a tete-a-tete with the man who has some rare fascination for her, as Lionel Trevalyon has for many. But no, Delrose will not stir from beside the woman who has magnetised him for years. And as he keeps his position, he mentally curses Lord Rivers for his temporary monopoly of her.