It was more than an hour afterward when Lady Lisle was free again; then he enjoyed the felicity of helping her with her shawls, and of sitting by her side while they drove home in the moonlight.
Lady Amelie was the very queen of coquettes. In the course of all her long experience, she had never, through all her flirtations, said one word too much. But no other woman living could imply so much by a gesture, a look or an exclamation. One morning Basil had called early, in the hope of escorting her to an exhibition of paintings. He found her alone, and while he was talking to her, a gentleman entered the room—a tall, portly, sensual-looking man, whom Basil disliked at first sight. Lady Amelie introduced him to her husband, Lord Lisle, who was very cordial in his greeting.
"Lady Lisle has often spoken of you," he said; "but this is, strange to say, the first time I have ever had the pleasure of seeing you. I met your mother, Lady Carruthers, a year ago, and have a most pleasant recollection of her."
Lord Lisle sat down, and Lady Amelie gave a pretty little sigh, expressive of her resignation to something unpleasant.
And truly a conversation with Lord Lisle was about as unpleasant a matter as one could well experience. His language was coarse; his ideas coarser still. There was very little to redeem it. He mistook slang for wit, told stories that made his wife shudder, and misbehaved himself as only such a man can do.
Basil looked at him in dismay. Could it be possible that this man was the husband of that queen of beauty? What a life for her! No wonder she looked sad as she sat listening to him! The young man's heart ached for her.
"Are you engaged this evening?" asked Lord Lisle; "if not, dine with us. I expect Sir Harry Vere, and he is the most amusing character I know."
He would have refused, but that he met the imploring glance of Lady Amelie's eyes.
"I will come with pleasure," he replied; and her eyes thanked him.
Then Lord Lisle, thinking he had been most amiable and charming, rose from his chair and quitted the room. In some vague, indistinct way the atmosphere seemed clearer after he had gone.