“Mrs. Lyon? that child.”
“Well, I tell you, I was as much surprised as you are to hear her called so; but then I reflected that in America, as in all young nations, people marry at a very early age.”
“Ah! but where is Mr. Lyon?” very pertinently inquired Lillespont.
“Oh, Mr. Lyon? I don’t know that there is any Mr. Lyon. I have somehow or other received the impression that this childish beauty is a young widow, and a very wealthy one also.”
“A youthful, beautiful, and wealthy widow,” said Lillespont, musingly. “Lord John, you say you know her,—will you introduce me?”
“With pleasure,—come,” said the elder man, leading the way to the bay-window.
Alexander followed them no further, but muttering to himself:
“Ass, puppy, coxcomb!” and other injurious epithets—probably applied to Lillespont—withdrew to a convenient spot from which, unseen, he could see all that might be going on in the bay-window.
He saw the old gentleman called Lord John take Lillespont up and present him to General Lyon, who forthwith presented him to the ladies of his party. And next he saw the young duke bow deeply to Drusilla, and make some request, to which she graciously responded. And then he saw her rise and give her hand to Lillespont, who, with the air of a conqueror, led her off.
Alexander ground his teeth together with rage and jealousy.