“Are you sure I should not be intruding on Lady Teignmouth?” inquired Colonel Dacre, whose eyes had suddenly brightened at the proposition.
“On the contrary, I am certain her ladyship will be delighted to see you.”
Lady Teignmouth was reclining on a lounge by the open window as Colonel Dacre entered, and her very attitude showed how thoroughly bored she was; but at the sound of his name she turned, with evident relief, and held out her hand.
“How very kind of you to take compassion on a poor recluse!” she said gaily. “I am literally dying of ennui! I do hope you have brought me some news.”
“On the contrary, I have come here for news,” he answered, seating himself in the chair her ladyship pointed out.
“Then you have been taken in, I am afraid. Nothing new ever happens at Teignmouth.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, his voice trembling a little; “Lady Gwendolyn’s sudden departure is something new.”
“I am so accustomed to these strange caprices of hers, they never seem new to me,” replied Lady Teignmouth, hardening a little. “It is a great misfortune when a mere girl has such a horror of anything like control. I am going away to-morrow myself, and she might as well have waited and traveled with me as far as town, but she would not listen to my proposition. She preferred to be quite free, she said; and so she is gone off, goodness knows where, in spite of everything I could say.”
“Lord Teignmouth told me she had left you her address,” hazarded the colonel timidly.
The countess gave him a sudden, keen look right in the eyes, and then shook her head.