It was into this semi-tropical region, where the atmosphere was redolent of sweet and cloying perfume, that Clotilde had slowly walked, her eyes dreamy and downcast, and her fingers idling amongst the beautiful blossoms on either side.
As Glen followed, and noted her soft undulating form, her bent head with masses of dark hair clustering about her neck, he felt his heart go throb, throb, heavily and slowly, while his blood seemed to bound through his veins.
Clotilde went on down the central path of the great glass-house, and then, without glancing back, she turned off at the bottom, where she was completely hidden from the drawing-room windows, and it was here that Glen overtook her.
“Miss Riversley! Clotilde!” he said softly.
She did not speak, but he saw her shudder, as if a tremor had run through her frame.
“Have I offended you?” he whispered, holding out his hands.
“Oh no,” she cried, starting round with her face flushed; and placing her hands in his, she looked up full in his eyes for a moment, and then let them fall.
It was very shocking, very unusual, and it was all entirely opposed to the etiquette of such matters, but there was a something in Clotilde’s looks and ways that made Glen turn giddy; and he behaved giddily. Some people will say it was his fault, some others may blame the lady for her want of reserve, but the fact remains the same, that, forgetting everything in the moment but the look that had spoken so much to his eyes, the young officer pressed his lips to the hand that not only seemed to, but did invite the caress; but just then there was a sharp “Oh!” and in an instant Clotilde and Glen were admiring the beauty of the colours in some caladiums of which Lady Littletown was very proud.
The ejaculation was not uttered by that lady, however, but by Marie, who, closely followed by Dick Millet, had come down the conservatory tiles silent as a cat and seen all.
“Clotilde!” she exclaimed in a low, angry voice, and then she darted an imperious look at Glen.