Lady Luce was, perhaps, the most quiet and least talkative; but she sat and listened to Drake's stories and badinage, with a smile in her eyes and her lips slightly apart.
In a few hours he would speak the word which would make her the future Countess of Angleford!
The ladies lingered at the table rather longer than usual, for Drake's stories had suggested others to the other men, and his high spirits had awakened those of the persons near him. But Lady Angleford rose at last, and the ladies filed off to the drawing-room.
The men closed up their ranks, and Drake sent the wine round briskly. There was no dance to cut short the pleasant "after-the-ladies-have-gone" time; and they sat long over their wine, so that it was nearly ten o'clock when Drake, with his hand on the decanter near him, said:
"No more, anybody? Sure? Turfleigh, you will, surely!"
But the old man knew that he had had enough. He, too, was excited, and under a strain, and he rose rather unsteadily and shook his head.
"No, thanks. Er—er—I fancy we've rather punished that claret of yours to-night, my dear boy."
"It's a sad heart that never rejoices!" Drake retorted, with a laugh which sounded so reckless that Wolfer glanced at him with surprise.
"We'd better have a cigarette in the smoking room before we go into the drawing-room," said Drake, and he led the way.
As they went, talking and laughing, together across the hall, a white-faced woman leaned over the balustrade above, and watched them.