“Yes, yes; charming, my dear!” he said, innocently. He thought the plain muslin was some kind of rare silk, and that she had left her diamonds upstairs in their case because she did not wish to outshine some of the elder women. It was like her good taste, he thought, and he nodded at her with loving approval. The dinner was a stately one. It would have been a solemn one also but for Esmeralda. She had never been in better spirits, apparently, and she talked and laughed as she used to do before her marriage.
The duke looked on delightedly, and many of the staidest caught fire at the flame of her bright, flashing spirit; the dinner was, unlike such functions, both brilliant and enjoyable. But it was with Norman that she exchanged her airiest badinage, that swift, delightful repartee which came of the old Three Star stock with London wit grafted on it.
Trafford, sitting near her, listened and watched. She dazzled him, bewildered him, and bewitched him. He knew that the men were looking at him with friendly envy, and he said to himself: “She is my wife, and I love her!” He felt an almost irresistible impulse to rise from his place, take her in his arms, and carry her to some place where he could say to her, “You are my wife; you belong to me; you shall not separate yourself from me any longer. Let the past go to the devil; I care not what may have happened, I care not whether you believe me or not, I tell you that I love you, and that you are mine, mine!” Then he looked across the table at Norman, his face flushed and smiling, and he thought of the hideous hint that Ada had thrown out.
Trafford was an extremely temperate man. He had gone through his wild time, and, like most men who go through it and come out the other side, was absolutely abstemious; but to-night he astonished the butler by signing to him to fill his glass again and again. He did not think the wine was having any effect upon him, was not conscious that his usually pale face was growing flushed, that he was talking rapidly, that his laughter rang now and again, with an unnatural ring, above that of the others.
When the ladies left the room he passed the wine diligently. Some of the men remarking it, looked at each other covertly. They had never seen Trafford in this mood before, or, at any rate, for some years. When they entered the drawing-room he looked round for Esmeralda. The magnificent room, with its gilding and innumerable candles, seemed to whirl before him, and the women, in their brilliant dresses, to swim together like the figures in a kaleidoscope. His heart clamored through the stress of his excitement for Esmeralda; he wanted to speak to her, to touch her hand; but she was surrounded immediately, and he could not get near her without pushing aside some of those who encircled her. He felt that he could even do that.
Some one was at the piano; they were playing the waltz which had been playing the night he had stood beside Esmeralda when she dropped her bracelet over the balcony. God! what a fool he had been not to know that he loved her even then!
Lord Chesterleigh came up and spoke to him, and he scarcely knew what Chesterleigh was saying or what he himself responded. Esmeralda seemed to evade him like a will-o’-the-wisp; from whatever part of the room she was standing or sitting there came bursts and ripples of laughter; those who were not immediately round her or talking to her were talking of her. Old Lady Desford sung her praises in the duke’s ready ear.
“She really is the most brilliant creature I have ever met!” she said. “One quite forgets, while listening to her, that she is only a girl. No wonder you are so proud of her, and Trafford is so devoted. It really makes one wish that our own girls could go out for a time to the wilds of Australia on the chance of their acquiring something of the dear marchioness’s spirit.”
“Ah, yes,” he said in his courtly way; “I am told that black swans are not rara avis there, but I can only say that I have seen but one specimen—my daughter.” He said “my daughter” with a pride beyond description. Presently he rose to retire, and when Esmeralda, who had been watching him, came up to wish him good-night, as she always did, no matter how large or stately the company, he bent and kissed her.
For a moment a little tremor ran through her, and her hands clung to his arm and a mist rose before her eyes; but she set her teeth hard and turned swiftly to answer some one who had spoken to her. Trafford took his father to the door, as usual, and the duke murmured a few words of congratulation.