She tried to think, but her head was in a whirl—she could not control herself, she could not control her thoughts; the sight of Lady Lanswell seemed to have set her heart and soul in flame—all the terrible memory of her wrongs came over her, the fair life blighted and ruined, the innocent girlhood and dawning womanhood all spoiled. It was too cruel—no, she could never forgive it.
And then it seemed to her that her brain took fire and she went mad.
She saw Lord Chandos that same evening; they met in a crush on the staircase at one of the ducal mansions, where a grand dinner-party preceded a soiree, and the crowd was so great they were unable to stir. It is possible to be quite alone in a great crowd, as these two were now.
Leone had on a dress of white satin trimmed with myrtle, the rich folds of which trailed on the ground. They shook hands in silence; it was Lord Chandos who spoke first.
"I am so glad to see you, Leone; but you are looking ill—you must not look like that. Has anything happened to distress you?"
He saw great trouble in the dark eyes raised to his.
"Is Lady Marion here?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "She was to have come with my mother, but at the last moment she declined; I do not know why."
She was debating in her own mind whether she would tell him about his mother's visit or not; then she decided it would be better. He bent over her.
"I came," he said, "in the hope of seeing you. I heard you say last night that you should be here."