Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Nine.
A Little Gossip.
That hat which the Master of the Ceremonies raised so frequently to the various visitors looked in its solidity as if it might very well become an heirloom, and descend to his son, should he in more mature life take to his father’s duties.
Stuart Denville had just replaced it for about the twentieth time that morning, when he encountered Lady Drelincourt in her chair.
Her ladyship had been very cold since her visit to the Denvilles, but this particular morning she was all smiles and good humour.
“Now, here you are, Denville, and you’ll tell me all about it. You were there?”
“Yes, dear Lady Drelincourt,” said Denville, with his best smile, as he thought of Morton and his possible future. “I was there. At—er—”
“Pontardent’s, yes. Now, tell me, there’s a good man, all about it. Is the Major much hurt? Now, how tiresome! What do you want, Bray? You are always hunting me about with that wicked boy.”
“No, no,” said Sir Matthew, in his ponderous fashion. “Drawn, Lady Drelincourt, drawn. Attracted, eh, Payne?”
Sir Harry Payne—“that wicked boy,” as he was termed by her ladyship—declared upon his reputation that Sir Matthew Bray was quite right. It was attraction.