Esmeralda and Lady Ada returned to the drawing-room, where Barker and Lady Wyndover awaited them impatiently, and the awful mystery of robing the bride proceeded.
Esmeralda was rather paler than usual, and her heart was still beating painfully. Why had she not told Trafford of Norman Druce and his love for her?
“What on earth did Trafford want with you?” asked Lady Wyndover. “The idea of his coming round this morning! Men have not the least notion of propriety!”
Ada Lancing, with a glance at Esmeralda, answered for her.
“Norman Druce has just come back, and Lord Trafford wanted to introduce him to Esmeralda,” she said. “But she had met him before.”
Esmeralda flushed momentarily.
“Good gracious, is that all!” remarked Lady Wyndover. “He might have waited until after the ceremony, I should think. But that is just like Lord Trafford. He thinks there is no one like that boy, and no doubt expects Esmeralda to be of the same opinion. Where is the lace, Barker? Turn round this way a little, dear. Why, I declare, your hand is shaking! I hope you are not upset. I wish he had not come!”
“I am all right,” said Esmeralda; and though her voice was low, it did not tremble.
Before the bride was fully attired in the white splendor which would fill half a column of the next morning’s papers, the guests were on their way to the church.
The duke and Lady Lilias and other members of the family had come up to the ducal house in Park Lane, where also was staying the bishop, who was to conduct the ceremony.