Mrs. Jersey bit her lip on finding her inquiries thus baffled, but taking her cue expanded on the subject of the house. "It was a fashionable mansion in the time of the Georges," she said. "Some of the ceilings are wonderfully painted, and there are all kinds of queer rooms and cupboards and corners in it. And so quiet. I dare say," she went on, "this room was filled with beaux and belles in powder and patches. What a sight, Mr. Brendon--what a sight! Will you have some negus? Port-wine negus, Mr. Brendan."
She was evidently talking at random, and offered him a glass of negus with a trembling hand. Brendan; evidently more and more astonished at her manner, drank off the wine. He made few remarks, being a man who spoke little in general company. Train had long ago gone to hear Miss Bull tell fortunes and, from the laughter, it was evident that his future was being prophesied.
"No! no!" cried Train, "I shall never marry. A literary man should keep himself away from the fascinations of female society."
"Do you agree with that, Mr. Brendan?" asked Mrs. Jersey, curiously.
He shook his head and laughed. "I am not a hermit, Mrs. Jersey."
"Then Miss Bull must prophesy about your marriage. Come!"
At first Brendon was unwilling to go, but after some persuasion he submitted to be led to the table. Miss Bull was quite willing to do what was asked of her, and spread out the cards. Brendon waited beside Mrs. Jersey with a most indifferent air. She was far more anxious to hear the fortune than he was.
"You are in trouble," announced Miss Bull in a sepulchral tone, "and the trouble will grow worse. But in the end all will be well. She will aid you to get free and will bestow her hand on you."
"She?" asked Brendon, looking puzzled.
Miss Bull did not raise her eyes. "The lady you are thinking of."