"I say, see these smart women!" he growled, "Mrs. Blynne and her daughter—flaunting in French frocks. I'll swear they live in two rooms, and have not a stiver over three hundred a year. How the dickens do they do it?"
"Credit," muttered his companion.
"Bah! widows with small incomes don't get that. It's my belief she is going to induce that old fool, Montlevi, to marry her."
"I am sure I haven't the smallest objection," drawled Captain Haig.
"And here comes Lady Tracy-Fleet, with her two little girls on show, quite the pattern matron! and I happen to know that she lost eight hundred pounds one night last week at bridge. There is Leoni and his daughter; she will have a great fortune. Eh, Malcolm? rather dark, but you can't have everything!" But Malcolm made no reply; he was gravely considering his boots.
"Hallo!" exclaimed his uncle after a pause; "I say, do you remember that girl at Homburg—Miss Chandos, the heiress? Why, of course you do—you were rather gone in that quarter, eh?—old woman left her nothing, and she went to India and got mixed up with a lot of shady people."
"Yes; what about her?"
"Why, she is over there! and coming this way, with Lord Sombourne and Lady Ida Eustace."
Malcolm ceased to lounge and contemplate his favourite pair of boots, and instantly sat up erect and alert.
Yes; walking with measured ease between a tall, aristocratic old man and a tall, aristocratic woman, he beheld Verona. She wore a long, flowing white gown, a black hat, and carried in her hand a dainty pink parasol. She looked lovely!