Cashel looked at her in consternation. “You don’t mean to say that you went to see a—a—Where—when did you see me? You might tell me.”
“Certainly. It was at Clapham Junction, at a quarter-past six.”
“Was any one with me?”
“Your friend, Mr. Mellish, Lord Worthington, and some other persons.”
“Yes. Lord Worthington was there. But where were you?”
“In a waiting-room, close to you.”
“I never saw you,” said Cashel, growing red as he recalled the scene. “We must have looked very queer. I had had an accident to my eye, and Mellish was not sober. Did you think I was in bad company?”
“That was not my business, Mr. Cashel Byron.”
“No,” said Cashel, with sudden bitterness. “What did YOU care what company I kept? You’re mad with me because I made your cousin look like a fool, I suppose. That’s what’s the matter.”
Lydia looked around to see that no one was within earshot, and, speaking in a low tone to remind him that they were not alone, said, “There is nothing the matter, except that you are a grown-up boy rather than a man. I am not mad with you because of your attack upon my cousin; but he is very much annoyed, and so is Mrs. Hoskyn, whose guest you were bound to respect.”