So absorbed was Claudia in these questions, while gazing at the beautiful and unconscious subject of them, that she did not perceive the approach of Lord Vincent until he actually stood at her side.
Then she looked up at him inquiringly, and pointed at the sleeping beauty.
But instead of replying to her, he bent over the sleeper and whispered:
"Faustina!"
Now, whether she were really sleeping or shamming, the awakening, real or pretended, was beautiful. The drooping, black-fringed eyelids slowly lifted themselves from the eyes—two large black orbs of soft fire; and the plump, crimson lips opened, and dropped two liquid notes of perfect music—the syllables of his baptismal name:
"Malcolm!"
"Faustina, you are dreaming; awaken! remember where you are," he said in a low voice.
She slowly raised herself to a sitting posture and looked around; but every movement of hers was perfect grace.
"Lady Vincent, this is Mrs. Dugald," said the viscount.
Claudia drew back a step, and bent her head with an air of the most freezing hauteur.