When I saw Desmond again, he was surrounded by men, the French Count among them, drinking champagne. He held a bottle, and was talking fast. The others were laughing. His listless, morose expression had disappeared; in the place of a brutal-tempered, selfish, bored man, I saw a brilliant, jovial gentleman. Which was the real man?
"Finish your jelly," said Ben.
"I prefer looking at your brother."
"Leave my brother alone."
"You see nothing but 'the sun which makes a dust, and the grass which looks green.'"
Miss Munster hoped I was cared for. How gay Desmond was! she had not seen such a look in his face in a long time. And how strongly he was marked with the family traits.
"How am I marked, May?" asked Ben.
"Oh, we know worse eccentrics than you are. What are you up to now?
You are not as frank as Desmond."
He laughed as he looked at me, and then Adelaide called to us that it was time to leave.
We were among the last; the carriage was waiting. We made our bows to Mrs. Munster, who complained of not having seen more of us. "You are a favorite of Mrs. Hepburn's, Miss Morgeson, I am told. She is a remarkable woman, has great powers." I mentioned my one interview with her. Guests were going upstairs with smiles, and coming down without, released from their company manners. We rode home in silence, except that Adelaide yawned fearfully, and then we toiled up the long stairs, separating with a tired, "good-night."