Coverdale made no reply, but his lips became more sternly compressed, and the shade on his brow grew deeper, until the dance concluded, then muttering—
“This must not go on: I shall make her come away”—he strode across the room to where (her late partner bending gracefully over her, and talking about nothing with the deepest empressement) his wife was seated.
CHAPTER XXXIX.—ARABELLA.
On perceiving her husband, Alice started, and, between surprise and anger, her cheeks assumed a hue more resembling that violent and unsentimental flower the peony, than the blush-rose, to the use of which our minor poets are so strongly addicted. This blush which, with all his trust in and affection for his wife, Harry could scarcely fail to misinterpret, did not tend to impart any great degree of cordiality to his manner, as he thus accosted her:—
“I scarcely expected to find you still here, so late as it is; but I only reached Park Lane within the last half-hour. There had been an accident on the line, and our train was delayed between two and three hours. You look flushed and tired. You’ve been tempting her to dance too much, I’m afraid, Courtland. I saw the carriage waiting as I came in. I should think you must have had enough of this nonsense, Alice! What say you to coming away? I’ve lots of news to tell you from home.”
“I’m afraid your budget must wait a little longer. I’m engaged to Lord Alfred for the next dance, and intend to fulfil my engagement; so you had better submit to your fate quietly, and provide yourself with a partner,” was Alice’s cool reply.
“Courtland will excuse you, I am sure,” urged Harry; “come away, if for no better reason than that I wish it.”
“An all-sufficient one in your autocratic eyes, I dare say,” was the flippant rejoinder; “but the barrel-organs remind us too constantly that ‘Britons never shall be slaves,’ for me to think of sacrificing my freedom to all your imperious fancies. Come, my lord, they are going to wind up with Sir Roger de Coverley; let us take our places.” So saying, Alice accepted the proffered arm of her cavalier servente, and walked off with him, leaving her husband to struggle against his rising anger (which in her then frame of mind she saw and disregarded) as best he might. A severe struggle it was, and one in which nothing but his deep love for her, and fear of compromising her by word or deed, could have rendered him successful. By a powerful exercise of self-control, he contrived to avoid any outward manifestation of his feelings; and after watching Alice and her partner for some minutes, with flashing eyes and an aching heart, as they hurried through the boisterous evolutions of that romping dance, he wandered listlessly through the rooms, now partially deserted, seeking some spot where he might be alone with his troubled thoughts, and avoid the necessity of replying to the commonplaces of society, to which, at that moment, he felt himself completely unfitted. Having passed through the music-room, he found himself in an elegantly-furnished boudoir, which at first sight he believed to be untenanted, and, flinging himself into an easy-chair, leaned his head on his hands, and gave way to painful reflections. After remaining in this attitude for several minutes, a sound resembling a sigh caught his ear, and, hastily looking up, he perceived Arabella Crofton.