"I owe you a deep apology," the Countess whispered, as she held Bruce's hand. "I was exceedingly rude to you the other night. I ought to have waited for your ice, and more especially, I ought to have waited to congratulate you. I am very glad for Hetty's sake. She is a good girl, and I shall miss her."
The voice ran true and clear; there was deep sincerity in the eyes of the speaker. Bruce was melting, despite himself. Hetty must be wrong. A brilliant woman like that would never throw herself at the feet of a mere doctor. Nobody could look in her eyes and doubt her goodness and truth.
"It is very good of you to say so," Bruce murmured feebly.
The Countess pushed him from her with a merry smile.
"You are distant tonight," she said. "Go and talk to Hetty. Not that I am going to let her monopolise you all the evening. I am too jealous of your reputation for that. Now go and make the most of your time."
Hetty looked up shyly. There was a faint little smile on her face. She wore a single stone diamond heart on her breast. But for this Bruce would not have known how quickly she was breathing.
"What is it?" he asked. "What is the matter, sweetheart?"
Hetty smiled up into her lover's face. From under her long lashes she could see that Leona Lalage was regarding her intently.
"Talk in an ordinary manner," she whispered; "say anything foolish--the sort of bald nonsense young men chatter in drawing-rooms. And don't forget that the Countess is watching every gesture intently."
"She struck me as being rather nice," Bruce replied. "And I am quite sure that she was sincere in her congratulations."