"No: how the devil should I?" said the Captain, also sinking his voice—but simply because Dunstable did so.
"If that poor mendicant were not Lydia Hutchinson," returned the young nobleman, "I never was more mistaken in my life. But, my God! how altered!"
And for a few moments his countenance became inexpressibly sad.
"What nonsense to give way to feelings of that kind!" whispered Cholmondeley.
"But she was once so beautiful!" said Dunstable. "Do you remember the first time we ever met her—in Hyde Park——"
"I was thinking a deuced deal too much about Adeline Enfield, at that time, to bother myself about Lydia What-'s-her-name," interrupted the colonel, impatiently. "Come—it's of no use yielding to maudlin feelings of that kind, Dunstable. We are all going to dine together presently: and if you wear that kill-joy countenance, I shall wish you at the devil."
Then the Captain drew the young nobleman back to the group in the window; and in a few minutes the sprightly nature of the conversation banished from Dunstable's mind the unpleasant reminiscences which had been temporarily excited by the sudden appearance of one whom he knew so well!
In the meantime that miserable female pursued her way down St. James's Street.
The weather was cold—dreadfully cold: the streets were damp—and she had neither shoes nor stockings!