"What would you please to order for supper?"
"What will you have, madam?" inquired Lord Vincent, referring to
Claudia.
"Nothing on earth, in this horrid place! I am heart-sick," she added, in a low, sad tone.
"The lady will take nothing. You may send me a beefsteak and a bottle of Bass' pale ale," said his lordship, seemingly perfectly careless as to Claudia's want of appetite.
"Yes, sir; shall I order it served in the coffee room?"
"No, send it up here, and don't be long over it."
The waiter left the room. And Lord Vincent walked up and down the floor in the most perfect state of indifference to Claudia's distress.
She threw herself into a chair and burst into tears, exclaiming:
"You do not care for me at all! What a disgusting place to bring a woman—not to say a lady—into! If you possessed the least respect or affection for me you would never treat me so!"
"I fancy that I possess quite as much respect and affection for you,
Lady Vincent, as you do, or ever did for me," he answered.