General Lyon and his young friends had to stand a few moments, while a group who had passed in before them paused to pay their respects to the host and hostess.
At length, when their own turn came, the General took precedence of his nephew and led Drusilla up to the ambassadress. First he shook hands heartily with his old friend the ambassador and bowed to the ambassadress, and then presented Drusilla as:
“My niece, Mrs. Lyon.”
Drusilla curtsied deeply, and the minister and his wife received her kindly. And after a few commonplace courtesies the General passed on to make room for Dick and Anna, and also to look out for some of his own friends in the crowd.
But ah! what a suppressed buzz went through the room as the veteran passed, with the newest beauty of the season hanging on his arm.
“What an exquisite young creature!” lisped young Leslie of the Guards.
“Who is she then?” inquired Beresford of the Hussars.
“Don’t know, I am sure. Does anybody here? Do you, Kill.? You look as if you did,” said Leslie, turning to Lord Killcrichtoun, who was standing like a statue staring after the retreating form of General Lyon and Drusilla, who were speedily lost in the crowd.
The question recalled him to himself.
“Do I—what?” he inquired, with assumed carelessness.