"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," she repeated icily, and swept past him into the drawing-room.
CHAPTER XXV
THE RUSTLE OF A SKIRT
"You graceless young dog!" cried Kent-Lauriston, falling upon Stanley in a half-feigned, half-real burst of anger, as he entered the smoking-room after his encounter with Belle. "Do you know you've caused me to refuse invitations by the score, and dragged me down to this God-forsaken place, at the most impossible season of the year, on false pretences?"
"False pretences! How so?"
"Why? You shameless Lothario! Why? Because what's left of my conscience smote me for leaving a lamb amidst a pack of wolves, and wouldn't let me rest; nearly destroyed my digestion, I give you my word. I came down to pluck your innocence alive from the burning, and I've been a fool for my pains. Why, confound you, I not only find you épris with Madame Darcy, but engaged to both the Fitzgerald and Lady Isabelle."
"My dear Kent-Lauriston, pray soothe your ruffled feelings; your logic is excellent, but your premises are one and all false."
"What!"
"I say there's nothing between Madame Darcy and myself, and that I'm neither engaged to Miss Fitzgerald nor Lady Isabelle."