“Yes, sir. I’ll take an oath to it, if you like.”
“All right, then. Yes, yes, it’s all right. You can go,” dismissing him with a wave of his arm, and, suddenly pitching his wig in one direction and his gown in another, he sat down to digest the news.
So Madeline had come to beard him in his den. What did it all mean? and did she intend to return?
For fully an hour he sat in the dusk—nay, the darkness—pondering this question, forgetful of fire, light, and food. He would have liked to have cross-examined his clerk as to where she sat, and what she said; but no, he could not stoop to that; and then his mind reverted again to that crucial and as yet unanswered question—“Did she intend to come back?”
CHAPTER XXIII.
A BOLD STEP.
Mr. West announced that he was obliged to run down to Brighton on business and would not return until late that night, and he commanded his daughter to write and ask Lady Rachel to come and lunch, and spend the day. At lunch time Lady Rachel duly drove up, and rustled in, full of gossip, full of vitality, and dressed out in the last suggestion of the winter’s fashion. She had a great deal to tell about a grand dinner at a great house the previous evening, and retailed volubly and at length—the menu, the names of the guests—twenty-six—and the dresses of the ladies.
“I wore a new frock, rather a daring style, geranium-red, silk skirt and sleeves, and a white satin body, veiled in black net, and embroidered in steel sequins. But it really was sweet—one of Doucet’s. I dare not think of the price. However, it suited me—so my cavalier assured me.”
“You asked him?”
“I don’t think I did. He was a barrister. Barristers are looking up! Yes, another chicken cutlet, please,” holding out her plate—the Jeameses were banished. “And such a good-looking young man—a Mr. Wynne. My dear, you are giving me oyster sauce!” she screamed. “What are you thinking about? And, oh—where was I—what was I saying? Yes, about Wynne. He was so amusing, and said such witty things. I wish I could remember half—nay, any one of them—and pass them off as my own. It was more the way he said them, though. And Madeline, my love,” laying down her knife and fork, as if suddenly overwhelmed by the recollection, “he had the most irresistible dark eyes I ever looked into!”
“Ever looked into?” repeated Madeline. “You—you seem quite impressed,” breaking up her bread rather viciously.