Norton turned sharply round; but Lady Gernon approaching, the conversation ceased.
“Mamma says you have not spoken to her to-night, Ada,” said Lady Gernon, whose face was flushed with excitement; and never had Norton thought her beauty more regal than now, as she stood before him with a brilliant tiara of sapphires and diamonds in her hair, while the large cross of pure and costly gems rose and fell with the soft heaving of her bosom.
“You extravagant woman!” laughed Ada, in reference to her cousin’s jewels. “If I had those sapphires I should never dare to wear them.”
“Murray always likes me to wear them on these particular occasions,” said Lady Gernon, carelessly; and, after exchanging a pleasant smile with Norton, she moved away towards where Mrs Elstree was seated.
In spite of himself, Sir Murray Gernon frowned at the sight of that smile; but he turned away the next moment, to encounter his butler, at whom he gazed for a moment, and then, walking close up to him, he said, severely, “I told you I should not look over the next occasion, sir. Come to the library for your wages at ten to-morrow morning.”
John Gurdon’s face broke out into a profuse perspiration as he heard that sentence—one from which he knew there was no appeal—and he darted a scowling look of hatred at his master as he turned away. For Gurdon knew the justice of the decree: he had been drinking again. He had fought with the temptation, but the fine old wines, constantly to his hand, had been too much for him; and he had again succumbed, so that, as he stood there that moment beneath one of the brilliant chandeliers, in the midst of wealth and splendour, he saw himself beggared and wretched—a poor, out-of-place servant, whom no one would employ on account of his potent vice.
But a feeling of rage and hatred filled his breast the next instant, as he turned to single out his master; but he had disappeared, and with lowering brow the butler left the room to attend to some call.
Sir Murray Gernon had entered the blue-room, one of the handsome suite of drawing-rooms at the Castle, where he came upon a knot of his male friends, amongst whom stood Mr Elstree. He would have avoided them, but for some earnest mention of Norton’s name, that was made in a low tone, and in spite of himself he said hastily:
“What’s that about Captain Norton?”
“Ruined, I fear,” said Mr Elstree. “Those mines have collapsed—perfect crash—heavy calls on the shareholders, I’m told. We were remarking how calmly the poor fellow takes it. Poor Ada cannot know, for she is laughing happily with my wife.”