“Come away, my dearest child! you have fallen for your sins into the hunting set. They can talk, think, dream of nothing else. Were they not talking of horses? Oh, Mr. Somers, your sister is looking for you.”
I heard a scrap of another conversation as I was being swept off—the words, “My double—who is she?”
“I see,” continued my hostess, “you are getting on capitally! I’m going to introduce you to Sir Fulke Martin. He asked to be presented. He is immensely rich, so be sure you are very nice to him!”
CHAPTER IX.
“WE NEED NOT ASK IF YOU HAVE ENJOYED YOURSELF.”
Sir Fulke, who appeared to be expecting us, was a stout, bald gentleman, with a pair of hard brown eyes and a fixed smile. He bowed profoundly over his stiff shirt-front, as we were introduced; then Mrs. Cholmondeley immediately cut me adrift, saying in her quick little way—
“Now, Sir Fulke, there is a dance going on. Do take Miss Hayes into the ball-room!”
Sir Fulke piloted me carefully—danced with me carefully, but there was not the same swing and go as with my former partner. Sir Fulke gasped out several leading questions, and threw out filmy feelers in order to discover who I was, and where I came from. I did not satisfy his curiosity. Perhaps, if he had known that he was merely dancing with Miss Hayes, who lived in cheap lodgings in Stonebrook, he would have abandoned me in the middle of the room! He was very full of information about himself, and talked of his place, his shooting, his hunters, his intimate friend the Duke of Albion, and his sister la Comtesse de Boulotte.