But Mr. Etheridge glanced at the clock with a smile, and Stella held out her hand.
As she did so, she felt rather than saw the graceful form of Lady Lenore coming toward them.
"Are you going, Miss Etheridge?" she said, her clear voice full of regret. "We have seen so little of you; and I meant to ask you so much about Italy. I am so sorry."
And as she spoke, she looked full into poor Stella's eyes.
For a moment Stella was silent and downcast, then she raised her eyes and held out her hand.
"It is late," she murmured. "Yes, we must go."
As she looked up, she met the gaze of the violet eyes, and almost started, for there seemed to be shining in them a significant smile of mocking scorn and contemptuous amusement; they seemed to say, quite plainly:
"You think that no one knows your secret. You think that you have triumphed, that you have won him. Poor simple child, poor fool. Wait and see!"
If ever eyes spoke, this is what Lady Lenore's seemed to say in that momentary glance, and as Stella turned aside, her face paled slightly.
"You must come and see us again, Miss Etheridge," said the countess, graciously.