"Snared at last," he muttered. "Did I speak too plainly? No; I think not. I have committed myself to nothing. Shall I get the baronetcy? I think so; if not, let the Earl of Lacklands beware. I have him in a cleft stick."
At that moment Bertie and Ethel approached. As they entered the corridor, Mr. Murpoint rose with a scowl and passed out.
"Those two," he murmured; "they must be disposed of before long. She thinks, poor girl, that Fate will prove kind and give her to the arms of Master Bertie. Lady Boisdale, I am your Fate, and have other intentions respecting you."
Bertie and Ethel entered as the curtain fell over the doorway through which they had passed.
"I thought papa and Mr. Murpoint were here," said Ethel.
"They are not far off, I dare say," said Bertie. "Will you not rest a while?"
"How warm it is," said Ethel, leaning forward and fanning herself. "Every one looks hot excepting dear Violet. See where she goes, pale and unruffled as usual. Dear Violet!" and she sighed.
Bertie's eyes followed Violet as she passed, leaning upon Lord Boisdale's arm.
"Do you think Miss Mildmay is ill or unhappy?" he asked, in a low, grave voice.
"I cannot say. I do not think her ill, and I would like to say that she is unhappy. I think she scarcely knows herself the exact state of her own feelings. See how dreamy and yet serene she looks; she is not thin either, and yet—oh, how terrible a puzzle is life—how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable."