“No,” she murmured, unheard by the sleeping companion; “the dream of my life has not yet been fulfilled. I have not yet met the man to whom I could say, ‘I am yours, take me!’ Perhaps I never shall; and until I do, I will remain Lady Bell, though they buzz round my money-bags till I am deaf with their hum.”
The brougham was going at a great pace, simply because the coachman very reasonably desired to get home and to bed; and Lady Bell saw the houses flit past as if they had been part of a panorama got up for her special amusement.
But suddenly the brougham swerved, and, indeed, nearly upset, and the stillness of the night was broken by what seemed remarkably like an oath by the coachman.
Lady Bell felt that something was wrong; but she neither turned color nor lost her presence of mind.
Putting her head, with a thousand pounds of jewels on it, through the window, she said, in clear tones:
“What is the matter, Jackson?”
“I—whoa! I don’t quite know, my lady; I think it is a man. Something came right across the road. Yes, it is a man.”
Lady Bell opened the brougham door, stepped into the road—the light from the lamp flashing on her pearls—and went toward the horse.
“Keep away from her hind legs, for goodness’ sake, my lady,” ejaculated Jackson. “Keep still, will you!” this was of course addressed to the horse.
“What is it? what is it?” asked Lady Bell, peering about.