"Guildford ought to know," said Lord Leycester, audibly. "He does so much work."
"So I do," retorts Lord Charles. "Stay and keep you in order, and if that isn't hard work I don't know what is!"
This was very amusing for Stella; it was all so strange, too, and so little what she imagined; here were two peers talking like school-boys for her amusement, as if they were mere nobodies and she were somebody worth amusing.
Every now and then she could hear Lady Lenore's voice, musical and soft, yet full and distinct; she was talking of the coming season, and Stella heard her speak of great people—persons' names which she had read of, but never expected to hear spoken of so familiarly. It seemed to her that she had got into some charmed circle; it scarcely seemed real. Then occasionally, but very seldom, the earl's thin, clear, high-bred voice would be heard, and once he looked across at Stella herself, and said:
"Will you not try some of those rissoles, Miss Etheridge? They are generally very good."
"And he never touches them," murmured Lord Charles, with a mock groan.
She could hear her uncle talking also—talking more fluently than was his wont—to Lady Wyndward, who was speaking about the pictures, and once Stella saw her glance in her direction as if they had been speaking of her. The dinner seemed very long, but it came to an end at last, and the countess rose. As Stella rose with the rest of the ladies, the old Countess of Longford locked her arm in hers.
"I am not so old that I can't walk, and I am not lame, my dear," she said, "but I like something young and strong to lean upon; you are both. You don't mind?"
"No!" said Stella. "Yes, I am strong."
The old countess looked up at her with a glance of admiration in her gray eyes.