‘What! There! Why, I was there to-day, too,’ says Wyndham, and then pauses, as if suddenly sorry he had spoken.
‘We must have missed each other, then, and come up by different trains.’
‘I suppose so,’ says Wyndham slowly. ‘And so your Arcadia is Curraghcloyne? Fancy an adventure there!’ He shrugs his shoulders, and leans back in his chair. ‘You have had so many real adventures that I expect you like to revel in imagining one now and then.’
‘Perhaps so,’ says Crosby. ‘Still, even in Arcadia one doesn’t like to be called a thief. I say, it is getting late, isn’t it? Your aunt spoke of ten. It is now well after eleven. Buck up, my child, and let us on.’
CHAPTER XV.
‘The web of our life is of mingled yarn,
Good and ill together.’
The rooms are crowded to excess, and it is with difficulty that Crosby and Wyndham make their way to the place where someone has told them their hostess is to be found. They have arrived very late, in spite of Crosby’s attempt at haste, so late, indeed, that already some of the guests are leaving—a fact that has somewhat embarrassed their journey up the staircase. The heat is intense, and the perfume of the many roses makes the air heavy.
Quite at the end of the music-room Wyndham sees his aunt, and presently she, seeing him and Crosby in the doorway, makes them a faint salutation. The Hon. Mrs. Prior is a tall woman, with a high, aristocratic nose, fair hair, and blue eyes, now a little pale. She was the handsomest of the three daughters of Sir John Burke, and, what is not always the case, had made the best marriage. Her youngest sister, Kate, had, however, done very well, too, when she married James Wyndham, but the eldest sister had made a distinct fiasco of her life. She had run away with a ne’er-do-well, a certain Robert Haines, who came from no one knew where, and went no one knew where, either, taking Sir John’s favourite daughter with him. It was hushed up at the time, but the old man had caused ceaseless secret inquiries to be made for the missing daughter, always, however, without result. It was for a time a blot upon the family history, but it was forgotten after awhile, and Mrs. Prior and her daughter have for some time taken leading parts in Dublin society.
A tall, thin woman is singing very beautifully as the two young men enter, and Mrs. Prior’s slight movement of recognition to her nephew conveys with it a desire that he should not seek her until the song has come to an end. And presently the last quivering note dies away upon the air, and the crowd is once more in motion. Lady H—— is being congratulated on the beauties of her voice by many people, and Mrs. Prior, having done her part, is now able to receive her nephew and Crosby without having to pause and wonder who she is to speak to next.