"Come, Robert, we must really try to make our bow to Mrs. Pendarvis," said Katharine rather impatiently; and they proceeded on their journey to the second floor. There they found Mrs. Pendarvis, and several of Katharine's habitual partners. In a minute she had joined the throng in the dancing-room, and Robert was engaged in the double task of squeezing himself into as small a space as possible along the doorjamb, and trying to follow his wife's graceful figure through the distracting evolutions of a valse. When he had succeeded in seeing her through two or three rounds, he thought he would go down and find Lady Henmarsh; and he was just moving for the purpose, when a lady and gentleman came past him from the dancing-room, and the lady stopped and held out her hand. It was Hester Gould, beautifully dressed, in the highest spirits, and looking unusually well, even handsome, as Robert felt instinctively in the moment during which his eyes rested on her. It was only a moment, however, for they turned to her companion. The gentleman with whom Miss Gould had been dancing, with whom she was now going in search of Lady Henmarsh, was Gordon Frere.
Katharine had seen him also. In a whirl of the valse her eyes had met his, as she and her partner passed him and his. She saw his fair hair, his blue eyes, the smile she remembered so well; she heard his low pleasant laugh, and at the same instant he looked at her and she at him, and they were apart again. Then he led Hester from the dancing-room, and down to the canopied recess where Lady Henmarsh sat, and where he remained for some time, laughing and chatting with his animated and attractive partner. He had seen Katharine; and the result had been just what he had told Yeldham he knew it would be. He was ready to acknowledge her as beautiful and fascinating as ever, but he did not mind seeing her a bit now. He would have been an ass to have married at all in his circumstances, and she did quite right to make a good match when she got the chance. She shouldn't have flirted with him and jilted him as she had done, to be sure; but then women were all alike, and it hadn't hurt him much after all. He was delighted to see her looking so well, and to believe that she was very happy; and, by Jove, he was going to enjoy himself, and not think about love and marriage until he could afford such luxuries.
Lady Henmarsh had felt an acute pang of fear when she recognised Gordon Frere; but she soon quieted it by the timely reflection that no one could prove her share in the transactions of the past, and no one could unmarry Katharine, or take the money he had made by the marriage out of cousin Ned's pocket.
"I hope Katharine won't make a fool of herself," she thought, as she watched her ascend the stairs with her husband, and thought of the inevitable meeting before her; "but if she is inclined to do it, nobody can prevent her, and it's no business of mine. What can have brought the idle young fool back, I wonder? I thought he was safe for five years at least, and then promotion to Russia, or some equally desirable place." And when Hester Gould brought Gordon Frere down to the recess, Lady Henmarsh read in her face that she was pleased with the young man, and desirous that she should be gracious to him; so, as Lady Henmarsh found it convenient to further Miss Gould's pleasure just then to the utmost of her power, she was gracious to Gordon Frere, congratulated him on his return to London, and gave him to understand that Sir Timothy would be charmed to see him at Cavendish Square.
The ball terminated as brilliantly as it had begun; and Katharine was the gayest of the gay, the brightest of the bright. She stayed very late, and she danced incessantly. Again and again she found herself close to Gordon Frere, and once she was so placed that she had to choose between speaking to him and "cutting him dead." She took counsel of her pride; she remembered that if, as seemed likely, he was remaining in London, she must necessarily meet him often, and she decided on speaking to him. They were on the staircase, she going down, he coming up, with Hester on his arm,--he had danced several times with her that night, as Katharine had remarked,--when she bowed to him, and said,
"How do you do, Mr. Frere? Have you been long in town?"
"A few days only, Mrs. Streightley. I hope Mr. Guyon is well?"
"Quite well, thank you."
Again she bowed, and passed him; and thus they met and parted, who, when last they met, had parted with the brightest and most blessed hope which ever gilds life for youth and love.
Robert and Katharine drove home in silence, which each hoped might be imputed by the other to fatigue. With her remembrance was busy, with him remorse and shame.