“Well, there was nothing in it,” was her swift response.
His lordship laughed, languidly.
“Oh, come on!” he said; “the brougham’s in front.”
“Then bring it round,” she commanded. “The pavement’s damp, and I hate wet like a cat.”
As she spoke she glanced round. Seth had kept in the shadow—out of sight; as he thought—but her eyes, not unlike his in their keenness, saw him instantly, and she leaned forward with a quick, and, indeed, catlike movement.
“Who’s that?” she inquired.
The men turned and stared at Seth, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he came forward. As he did so she shrank slightly, very slightly, and her face paled for a second; then she laughed, and held out her hand.
“Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “It’s you, is it? How are you?” The group of aristocrats stared with the languid surprise which fashion permits. “How long have you been in London? Have you been inside? What did you think of me?” Then before Seth could reply she turned her flashing eyes on the group. “Well!” she said, defiantly, “what are you staring at? This is a friend of mine—a relation—my cousin Seth. He’s just up from the country. Aren’t you, Seth? Sorry I can’t join you at supper; he and I want a talk,” and she held out her arm for him to take.
“Oh, nonsense!” said his lordship, with a disappointed drawl. “You can talk after supper as much as you like. Bring your cousin with you.”
She laughed strangely.