It was too late then, for they were in the carriage on the way to Palace Gardens. But the dinner-party was not to pass off without trouble, for after the ladies had left, and while Lord Henry was fighting hard with a bad cigar, sipping his coffee and listening to his brother-in-law’s boastings about the way in which the money market was rigged, the butler entered softly, and whispered something to Lord Henry, who rose on the instant.
“Anything wrong, Moorpark?” said Elbraham, in his coarse, rough way.
“Only a call for me,” cried Lord Henry hastily. “Pray sit still, and do not let my absence interfere with your enjoyment.”
“All right; come back as soon as you can,” cried Elbraham; but by that time Lord Henry was in the hall, for the butler had whispered to him that her ladyship had been suddenly taken ill.
To Lord Henry’s astonishment, he found Marie in the hall, hastily drawing a long scarf round her neck and over her head.
“Take me home,” she whispered hoarsely, as he hurried to her side.
“My darling! are you ill?” he cried.
“Yes. Very ill, take me home.”
“Had I not better send for medical help at once?”
“No, no. Home! home!” she whispered, as she clung to his arm.