Sir Francis sat silent for a while, toying with his glasses.
"He has done nothing," he said, half to himself, "and yet I hate the sight of him, and he of me. It is twelve years since he set foot within Devereux Court. Twelve years! I wonder what his fancy is for coming now. Would to God he had stopped away!"
"Sir Francis," exclaimed a voice from the lower end of the table, "a promise to ladies is sacred. We were told that ten minutes was as long as we could be allowed this evening, and we have pledged our words. Have we your permission?"
"Certainly, gentlemen."
Sir Francis rose, and there was a general draining of glasses and a stretching of masculine forms. Then we followed him across the hall into the blue drawing-room.
I should have made my way at once to Maud but a look in her eyes checked me, and I turned aside and sat down in an empty recess. I had scarcely commenced to turn over the pages of a book of engravings which I had carelessly taken up, when I heard a voice at my elbow.
"As usual, Mr. Arbuthnot, you make me come to you. It's too bad of you."
I put down the book with a start, and stood up. Lady Olive was at my elbow.
"Now, sit down again, and tell me how the headache is," she exclaimed, sinking herself into the cushioned recess, and drawing her skirts aside to make room for me. "See, I've brought you my favourite smelling-salts, and I have some sal volatile in my pocket. I mustn't doctor you before all these people, though! And now for the question I'm dying to ask. Shall you be able to waltz?"
"Come and see," I said, rising and offering her my arm, for an exodus was already taking place from the room. "It's awfully good of you, Lady Olive, to remember my headache," I added, gratefully.