Her beauty had by this time dawned upon him, and not only her beauty, but her girlishness. His smile grew more paternal, and he patted her hand, which he still held.
Esmeralda’s heart was touched by the warmth of his greeting. She felt her eyes grow dim, and unconsciously her hand fluttered in the old man’s as she caught Trafford’s eyes fixed upon her with a “Did I not tell you so?” expression.
“Dinner is served, my lady,” said the stately butler.
Trafford took the duke to Lady Wyndover, and then offered his arm to Esmeralda; Lord Selvaine and Lilias brought up the rear.
Though Esmeralda was by this time growing accustomed to luxury and splendor, she was almost startled by the magnificence of the dining-room. For this occasion the famous Belfayre gold plate had been produced; and the table, furnished with the precious metal, and decorated by Lilias’s own hands, was a noteworthy spectacle.
Esmeralda was placed on the duke’s right, and his grace exerted himself to entertain the two ladies as he had not done for years; but after awhile he devoted himself to Esmeralda. He could see her loveliness more distinctly in the soft candle-light, and the Belfayres were quick to appreciate feminine beauty. He noticed, as Lilias had done, the sweetness and clearness of her voice, and her unconventional frankness and candor charmed him. She was not awed for a moment by her surroundings—as it must be confessed Lady Wyndover was—and she talked freely. Trafford heard his father’s rare laugh more than once, and once he saw his grace bend forward, and lay his hand upon Esmeralda’s.
The dinner seemed to Esmeralda interminable, and, after a time, she grew tired of saying, “No, thank you,” to the long array of dishes and wines which the noiseless servants offered her. The duke himself cut some grapes for her, and selected some of the largest of the hot-house strawberries, and was so engaged with her that he did not notice Lilias’s attempts to signal for the ladies to leave the room. They could hear him talking to Esmeralda as if he had known her for years.
“I must tell you all about our scheme for making a watering-place of the bay, my dear,” he said. It had come to “my dear,” instead of “Miss Chetwynde,” already. “I will come into the drawing-room for a little while, and you must tell me about that queer place, Five Stars—Three Stars. How amusing it must have been! You must have enjoyed your visit there immensely.” He had quite failed to grasp the fact that she had been brought up in a diggers’ camp.
Lady Lilias at last succeeded in rising, and his grace, as he rose, watched Esmeralda with an interested and even an affectionate smile, as she left the room. Then he sunk into his chair and nodded smilingly at Trafford.
“My dear Trafford, she is charming!” he said—“perfectly charming! I do not know that I have ever met any one so fresh and intensely interesting. Chetwynde? There are the Chetwyndes of Warwickshire; I knew some of them—but they were stupid people—quite stupid!”