"Who do you think is going to be married? Immediately! next week, I believe. Who but our friend Daisy!"
The shot told. Though Miss Douglas received it with the self-command of a practised duellist, so keen an observer as her friend did not fail to mark a quiver of the eye-lids, a tightening of the lips, and a grey hue creeping gradually over the whole face.
"Our fickle friend Daisy, of all people in the world!" continued Mrs. Lushington. "It only shows how we poor women can be deceived. I sometimes fancied he admired me, and I never doubted but he cared for you, whereas he has gone and fallen a victim to that wild Irish girl of Lady Mary Macormac's—the pretty one—that was such a friend of yours."
"I always thought he admired her," answered Miss Douglas in a very feeble voice. "I ought to write and wish Norah joy. Are you quite sure it's true?"
"Quite!" was the reply. "My authority is his own best man."
Fortunately the General appeared at this juncture, with tidings of the carriage, while through a vista of footmen might be seen at the open door a brougham-horse on his hind legs, impatient of delay.
"Good-bye, dear Blanche! You look so tired. I hope you haven't done too much."
"Good-bye, dear Clara! I've had such a pleasant afternoon."