Lydie herself, though accustomed to rule in one of the widest spheres that ever fell to woman's lot, wielded her sceptre with discretion and tact. In these days when the King was ruled by Pompadour, when Mme. du Châtelet swayed the mind of Voltaire, and Marie Thérèse subjugated the Hungarians, there was nothing of the blatant petticoat government in Lydie's influence over her father. The obtrusive domination of a woman like milady was obnoxious and abhorrent to her mind, proud of its feminity, gentle in the consciousness of its strength.
Now she feared that, forgetful of courtly manners, she might say or do something which would offend the redoubtable lady. There was still the whole length of the banqueting-hall to traverse, also the corridor, before she could hope to be released from so unwelcome a companionship.
Apparently unconscious of having roused Lydie's disapproval, milady continued to prattle. Her subject of conversation was still her son, and noting that his attention seemed to be wandering, she called to him in her imperious voice:
"Harry! Harry!" she said impatiently. "Am I to to be your spokesman from first to last? Ah!" she added, with a sigh, "men are not what they were when I was wooed and won. What say you, my dear Mlle. Lydie? The age of chivalry, of doughty deeds and bold adventures, is indeed past and gone, else a young man of Lord Eglinton's advantages would not depute his own mother to do his courting for him."
A shriek of laughter which threatened to be hysterical rose to Lydie's throat. How gladly would she have beaten a precipitate retreat. Unfortunately the room was crowded with people, who unconsciously impeded progress. She turned and looked at "le petit Anglais," the sorry hero of this prosaic wooing, wondering what was his rôle in this silly, childish intrigue. She met his gentle eyes fixed upon hers with a look which somehow reminded her of a St. Bernard dog that she had once possessed; there was such a fund of self-deprecation, such abject apology in the look, that she felt quite unaccountably sorry for him, and the laughter died before it reached her lips.
Something prompted her to try and reassure him; the same feeling would have caused her to pat the head of her dog.
"I feel sure," she said kindly, "that Lord Eglinton will have no need of a proxy once he sets his mind on serious wooing."
"But this is serious!" retorted Lady Eglinton testily. Lydie shook her head:
"As little serious as his lordship's desire to control the finances of France."
"Oh! but who better fitted for the post than my son. He is so rich—the richest man in France, and in these days of bribery and corruption—you understand, and—and being partly English—not wholly, I am thankful to say—for I abominate the English myself; but we must own that they are very shrewd where money is concerned—and——"