There was to be dancing after the tableaux, and he went to Lady Hermione with an anxious look on his face.
“Lord Lorriston says that it is the universal wish that the ladies who have taken such a brilliant part in the tableaux should appear in the several costumes they wore. Lady Hermione, you will not wear that black dress?”
“I could not dance in it,” she said, with a smile.
His face cleared.
“I am so glad you will wear the queen’s dress. I am so grieved that I ever asked you to imitate that picture.”
“Tell me why?” she asked.
“I could not. I should have to unravel the whole science of metaphysics. It has given me a shock; I cannot tell why. To remove the unpleasant impression, you will promise me to be a brilliant queen.”
“To forget that cruel Harry slew me?” she said. “Yes; I will forget it. See, you have frightened me with your fears. My hands have grown cold.”
He seized them and almost crushed them in his passionate clasp. He bent over them and longed with passionate longing to cover them with kisses, but dared not.
“You will soon make me superstitious,” she said; “I shall not feel myself again until I have my robes of state and diadem.”