“Jekyl, come back, man! just hear me out you've mistaken me! Confound the cur,” muttered the Viscount, “with his hypocritical affectation as if I did not know his metier as well as I know my bootmaker's.”
Norwood walked noiselessly to the door of the salon and peeped in. Lady Hester, the Prince, and Jekyl were in earnest conversation in one quarter; while Kate sat apart, apparently engaged with her embroidery-frame, but in reality too deeply sunk in thought to notice the bright tints before her. Norwood entered listlessly, and strolling across the room, took a place beside her. She moved slightly as he drew forward his chair, and, then, as she drew back her flounce, Norwood saw that it was of deep black lace. He coolly took out his pocket-book wherein he had deposited the torn fragment, and, regarding it with attention, saw that it perfectly corresponded with the dress. So leisurely and with such circumspection did he proceed that several minutes elapsed before he looked up.
“You are meditative, my Lord, to-night,” said Kate, at last, making an effort to relieve an awkward situation; “what are you thinking of, pray?”
“Admiring your dress, Miss Dalton, which strikes me as singularly beautiful and becoming.”
“Great praise this, from such an acknowledged judge as Lord Norwood,” said she, smiling.
“I prefer it to antique lace, which in general is too heavy and cumbrous for my taste; I like these fine and delicate tissues, so frail and gossamer-like, not but their frailty, like all other frailty, incurs occasionally a heavy penalty; as here, for instance, you see this has been torn.”
“So it has,” said Kate, with confusion, “and I never noticed it. What a quick eye you must have, my Lord!”
“And a sharp ear, too, Miss Dalton,” said he, significantly; “in fact, I am one of those people whose every-day faculties do duty for what in others goes by the name of cleverness. It 's a great pity,” said he, looking down at the dress; “you see, Miss Dalton, what a false step can do.”
“And yet I cannot remember when this occurred,” said she, assuming to misunderstand his equivocal expression.
“Not recall it, not a clew to the mishap?” asked he, shrewdly.