“An American—cousin of the Duchess. He could not have had the slightest interest in the affair.”
“Please take me into the ballroom,” Peter Ruff said to Lady Mary. “Your brother had better not come with us. I want to be as near the Count von Hern as possible.”
They passed into the crowded rooms, unnoticed, purposely avoiding the little space where the Duchess was still receiving the late comers among her guests. They found progress difficult, and Lady Mary felt her heart sink as she glanced at the little jewelled watch which hung from her wrist. Suddenly Peter Ruff came to a standstill.
“Don’t look for a moment,” he said, “but tell me as soon as you can—who is that tall young man, like a Goliath, talking to the little dark woman? You see whom I mean?”
Lady Mary nodded, and they passed on. In a moment or two she answered him.
“How strange that you should ask!” she whispered in his ear. “That is Mr. Jermyn.”
They were on the outskirts now of the ballroom itself. One of Lady Mary’s partners came up with an open programme and a face full of reproach.
“Do please forgive me, Captain Henderson,” Lady Mary begged. “I have hurt my foot, and I am not dancing any more.”
“But surely I was to take you in to supper?” the young officer protested, good-humouredly. “Don’t tell me that you are going to cut that?”
“I am going to cut everything to-night with everybody,” Lady Mary said. “Please forgive me. Come to tea to-morrow and I’ll explain.”