"Phew!"—He began a low whistle, and turned on his heel.
John changed colour a little. Lady Caroline laughed—a thoughtless, amused laugh, with a pleasant murmur of "Bete!"—"Anglais!"— Nevertheless, she whispered to her husband—
"Mon ami—you forget; I have introduced you to this gentleman."
"Gentleman indeed! Pooh! rubbish! Lady Caroline—I'm busy talking."
"And so are we, most pleasantly. I only called you as a matter of form, to ratify my invitation. Mr. Halifax will, I hope, dine with us next Sunday?"
"The devil he will!"
"Richard—you hurt me!"—with a little scream, as she pushed his rough fingers from her arm, so soft, and round, and fair.
"Madam, you must be crazy. The young man is a tradesman—a tanner. Not fit for MY society."
"Precisely; I invite him for my own."
But the whispers and responses were alike unheeded by their object. For, at the doorway, entering with Mrs. Jessop, was a tall girl in deep mourning. We knew her—we both knew her—our dream at Enderley—our Nut-browne Mayde.