There were Prince Ernest of Hohenlinden, General Count Molaski, the Duke of Lillespont, and one or two others of the same class.
Drusilla exhibited none of the awkwardness of a novice under such trying circumstances. The only lady in the circle, she was nevertheless not only self-possessed and graceful, but she was animated and witty. She kept the ball of conversation quickly flying back and forth, so that those about her forgot the passage of time until the cessation of the waltz music and the commencement of a march, followed by a general movement of the company in one direction proclaimed the opening of the supper rooms.
With a bow, Prince Ernest asked the honor of taking Mrs Lyon into supper.
With a smile of thanks, she accepted the courtesy, and arose.
And he drew her arm within his own, and proudly led her off.
They passed so near Alexander that he might have stepped upon her dress. But she never turned her eyes in his direction.
“She has forgotten me—clearly and finally forgotten me! But I will be hanged if I don’t make somebody sensible of my existence before the night is over!” said Alexander to himself as he followed them.
At supper the prince waited on the beauty with as much devotion as ever courtier offered to his queen.
Near them stood Anna, served by Henry Spencer and Nanny Seymour waited on by Dick.
There was really nothing at which Alexander had the least right to take exception. Yet his blood was boiling with jealousy so that he was actually almost frenzied.