The young duchess arose wearily from the sofa, and slightly courtesied her adieux.
The count stood up and bowed with a profound reverence that seemed ironical to her sensitive mind.
The guests were now all taking leave of their host and hostess.
The Duke and Duchess of Hereward were among the last to go.
"I am very sorry that I brought you out this evening, love. I saw—indeed, every one saw, and could not help seeing—that this dinner-party has been a great trial to you. It will not bear an encore. You must have time to recover your cheerfulness, dearest, before you are again brought into a large company," said the duke, kindly, as soon as they were seated together in their carriage.
"Did people attribute my dullness to—to—to—," began Valerie, by way of saying something, but her voice faltered and broke down.
"To your recent double bereavement?—certainly they did, my love. They knew
'No crowds
Make up for parents in their shrouds,'
and were not cruel enough to criticise your filial grief, my Valerie."
"I am glad of that; but I am very sorry you have invited the Count de Volaski to dinner to-morrow."