Lady Mary was as much taken with Esmeralda, and laughed with delight at Esmeralda’s strange speeches and peculiar accent, and did not seem to at all resent the fact that she, Lady Mary, played second fiddle so far as the men were concerned—for they formed a circle round Esmeralda, as usual.
Esmeralda noticed that Lord Trafford and the girl seemed great friends, and remarked upon it to Lady Wyndover, when they were chatting in Esmeralda’s room, before going to bed.
“Ah, yes!” said Lady Wyndover; “they are old friends. She is very pretty, isn’t she? They say that it was thought that Lord Trafford and she would make a match of it.”
Esmeralda was standing before her glass, unfastening a bracelet. She stopped for an instant, and looked straight before her, absently. It was as if something had made her heart jump unpleasantly.
“Do they?” she said, quietly.
Lady Wyndover laughed.
“Why, yes; any one can see that the girl is more than half in love with him. And no wonder, my dear; there are no end of women in love with him! Yes, she is very pretty—the kind of girl that takes men’s fancy.” She yawned behind her hand. “It has been a delightful evening, has it not, dear? But I’ll own to being a little tired. I suppose you are not in the least?”
Esmeralda shook her head.
“Not in the least,” she said.