"How have your owners called you my little man?"
"George Delrose Ponton is my name, Madame;" and with one hand to his breast, where the miniature lay, he again pushed his way through the groups of revellers.
"A speech from the throne could not have been given with more dignity than the poor fatherless little fellow gives his name," said Vaura, pityingly.
"My dear mother has fainted, sir;" the boy said, ignoring priest and women, and instinctively choosing the face full of strength and sweetness, the face men and children trusted and women loved—that of Lionel Trevalyon.
"Poor boy, poor thing, so she has while our attention has been diverted."
The meeting of father and son had been more than she could bear, and at the answer of Delrose to their child, she had fallen back in her chair in a dead faint.
"Poor creature, no wonder she gave way, I must get her out of this crowd."
"Bring her to my boudoir, Sir Lionel; touch that bell, Sir Tilton, please," cried Mrs. Haughton, thinking exultantly, "now is my opportunity to have him to myself, I shall open the ball with Lord Rivers at once, and then—" Mason appearing "lead the way to my boudoir and attend to this lady who has fainted."
"When she revives she will like some one besides a strange maid with her," said Colonel Haughton, as Lionel picked, the nun up in his strong arms; "you had better go too, Vaura dear."
Trevalyon looked his approval saying "come."