“It’s not Barker’s fault,” said Esmeralda. “It doesn’t matter; I shall do. Lady Lilias and I have been romping.”
“Lady Lilias been—romping—with you?” exclaimed Lady Wyndover, with wonder and something like awe.
“Why not?” said Esmeralda; “she’s only a girl!”
Lady Wyndover was incapable of speech. To her, Lady Lilias, one of the great Belfayres, was an object of respect; and this wild girl from the woods had already been romping with her!
They went down to the great drawing-room. Lilias, Trafford, and Selvaine were already there. Trafford came forward, and said a few words to Esmeralda.
“My father will be here presently,” he said. “He is looking forward to seeing you.”
As he spoke, the door opened, and the duke entered, leaning on the arm of his valet. Trafford went forward to take the man’s place, and the duke peered round the room, and was led up to Lady Wyndover, and bid her welcome.
“This is my father, Miss Chetwynde,” said Trafford, taking him up to her.
The duke looked at her with curiosity veiled behind his kind and courtly smile; then he extended his long, white hand, and held hers, as he said in his low, slow voice, which had a ring of Trafford’s in it:
“I’m very glad to see you, Miss Chetwynde. I hope you have forgiven me for not being present to receive you, but I am an old man, and am obliged to hoard my strength. Trafford has told me a great deal about you, and I am very, very pleased to see you. It is very kind of you to leave London and come to us, and I hope—I do hope—that you will not find it dull. We will do our best to amuse you and make you forget all that you lose by coming to us.”