“Oh, not the least in the world since you wish it,” he replied quickly, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he turned to his companion who was standing at the carriage door admiring Lydia, and being himself admired by the stoker. “Mr. Cashel Byron: Miss Carew.”
Mr. Cashel Byron raised his straw hat and reddened a little; but, on the whole, bore himself like an eminent man who was not proud. As, however, he seemed to have nothing to say for himself, Lord Worthington hastened to avert silence by resuming the subject of Ascot. Lydia listened to him, and looked at her new acquaintance. Now that the constraint of society had banished his former expression of easy good-humor, there was something formidable in him that gave her an unaccountable thrill of pleasure. The same impression of latent danger had occurred, less agreeably, to Lucian, who was affected much as he might have been by the proximity of a large dog of doubtful temper. Lydia thought that Mr. Byron did not, at first sight, like her cousin; for he was looking at him obliquely, as though steadily measuring him.
The group was broken up by the guard admonishing the gentlemen to take their seats. Farewells were exchanged; and Lord Worthington cried, “Take care of yourself,” to Cashel Byron, who replied somewhat impatiently, and with an apprehensive glance at Miss Carew, “All right! all right! Never you fear, sir.” Then the train went off, and he was left on the platform with the two ladies.
“We are returning to the park, Mr. Cashel Byron,” said Lydia.
“So am I,” said he. “Perhaps—” Here he broke down, and looked at Alice to avoid Lydia’s eye. Then they went out together.
When they had walked some distance in silence, Alice looking rigidly before her, recollecting with suspicion that he had just addressed Lord Worthington as “sir,” while Lydia was admiring his light step and perfect balance, which made him seem like a man of cork; he said,
“I saw you in the park yesterday, and I thought you were a ghost. But my trai—my man, I mean—saw you too. I knew by that that you were genuine.”
“Strange!” said Lydia. “I had the same fancy about you.”
“What! You had!” he exclaimed, looking at her. While thus unmindful of his steps, he stumbled, and recovered himself with a stifled oath. Then he became very red, and remarked that it was a warm evening.
Miss Goff, whom he had addressed, assented. “I hope,” she added, “that you are better.”