"I think," she said to Miss Hastings, in her quiet, calm way, "that the evening is cold."
"You have just left a warm country, Lady Darrell," was the gentle reply. "The South of France is blessed with one of the most beautiful climates in the world."
"It was very pleasant," said Lady Darrell, with a dreamy little sigh. "You have been very quiet, I suppose? We must try to create a little more gayety for you."
She looked anxiously across the room at Pauline; but that young lady's attention was entirely engrossed by the crimson flowers of the beautiful plant. Not one line of the superb figure, not one expression of the proud face, was lost upon Lady Darrell.
"I have been saying to Sir Oswald," she continued, looking intently at the costly rings shining on her fingers, "that youth likes gayety—we must have a series of parties and balls."
"Is she beginning to patronize me?" thought Pauline.
She smiled to herself—a peculiar smile which Lady Darrell happened to catch, and which made her feel very uncomfortable; and then an awkward silence fell over them, only broken by the entrance of Sir Oswald, and the announcement that dinner was served.