"No," he replied; "indeed, a coquette could never charm me. My ideal of woman is some one as lofty, grand, beautiful and gifted as you."
"Yet there are coquettes," she said, gravely.
"I do not doubt it. I only say there would be no charm for me in the fairest of them all."
Just then two gentlemen entered at the other end of the room, and the slight noise made by their entrance caused Lady Amelie to look up. Basil, who was watching her every movement, as he always did, attentively, saw her turn very pale and a sudden cloud of fear dimmed the radiance of her eyes.
"Lady Amelie, you are ill!" he cried; "or tired."
"I am tired," she said, and they sat down on one of the seats, placed in the middle of the room. It struck him that she was anxiously trying to conceal herself from observation, yet the idea seemed absurd.
In the meantime, the two gentlemen advanced slowly up the room. They, too, paused before "The Coquette's Decision," and laughed. Then one, leaving his companion, came hastily to the seat where Lady Amelie was sitting. He held out his hand as though surprised and delighted.
"Lady Amelie!" he said. "I felt sure that I was not mistaken—that it must be you."
There was no answering delight on her face; nothing but constraint, embarrassment and confusion.
"How do you do, Count Jules?" she said, coldly. "This is an unexpected surprise. I thought you had left London for some years."