“Then you really advise me to tell her!” exclaimed Lord Alfred, seizing D’Almayne’s arm in his eagerness and indecision.
“I really advise nothing of the kind, mon cher,” was the reply; “I have already cautioned you against that abrupt plain-speaking of yours; you should divest yourself of that rustic habit. You could scarcely sin more deeply against good taste and good breeding than to go to la belle Coverdale, and bring a railing accusation against her husband, nor could you divine a plan more certain to frustrate your hopes and wishes; but if, grieving over her misplaced confidence, you philanthropically incline to hint to her that he is scarcely the immaculate ascetic her imagination depicts, c’est tout autre chose! and now you must excuse me;” and as he spoke, he gently freed his coat-sleeve from Lord Alfred’s grasp, and regarding him with a half-sarcastic, half-compassionate, but wholly irritating smile, he turned and quitted the spot.
Thus left to his own reflections, which were none of the most agreeable, Lord Alfred paused for a few moments in indecision; then, with a hand tremulous from excitement, again replenished his glass, tossed down the Champagne, and returned to the dancing-room.
During her admirer’s absence, Alice had, for want of some more interesting occupation, been conversing with Arabella Crofton, using all her skill to try to elicit some particulars of her acquaintance with Harry in Italy, in which endeavour she had been most adroitly foiled by the quiet self-possession of the ci-devant governess, who told her most readily all she did not care to learn, and nothing that she did. As Lord Alfred approached, an individual was introduced to Miss Crofton, who desired the honour of her hand for the next polka, which desire that young lady obligingly gratified, thus affording his lordship an opportunity of seating himself by Alice, of which he instantly availed himself.
“It is never right to believe in a fair lady’s nay,” he began, “so I have returned to afford you an opportunity of confessing your change of mind with a good grace; come, they are just going to begin a new polka, let us take our places.”
“If ladies do always change their minds, I am going to be the interesting exception which proves the rule,” was Alice’s reply.
“How provokingly and unnaturally obstinate you are to-night, Mrs. Coverdale! You pretend to be fond of dancing, and yet, because I ask you, you resolve to sit still!”
“I have already told you my reason,” rejoined Alice; “in Mr. Coverdale’s absence I do not choose to dance the whole evening with any one gentleman.”
“What a pattern wife you are!” was the reply; “you give up your own amusement, and destroy all my pleasure, out of regard for the ghost of a scruple, which I dare say has never entered Mr. Coverdale’s brain; really, the patient Griselda was nothing compared to you.”
Alice was annoyed by his pertinacity, and, considering this speech impertinent, was about to repeat her refusal in terms which would have enlightened his lordship very considerably on these points, when it flashed across her that he might have taken rather too much Champagne; and the idea having occurred to her, his flushed face and excited manner confirmed it. Having sufficient liking for him to wish to prevent him from making himself ridiculous, she good-naturedly resolved to engross his conversation herself, and, aware of what she conceived to be the true state of the case, not to take offence at anything he might say, intending to read him a lecture on the following day. In accordance with this resolution, she replied—