CHAPTER XI.
That night Laline went to bed with her head in a whirl of emotion and perplexity.
All through the evening she had had to endure the comments of both Mrs. Vandeleur and her niece on the manners and appearance, the character, and the prospects of Wallace Armstrong, and had had to listen, to all appearance unmoved, while the possibilities of his falling in love and marrying were freely discussed.
And all the while she knew that she was his wife, sold by an impecunious father, bought by a penniless husband, unrecognised and forgotten, but his wife none the less in the eyes of the law and the sight of heaven.
She could have laughed aloud when Mrs. Vandeleur gravely stated that Wallace Armstrong was a man of "singular nobility of character, of fine artistic tastes, chivalrous instincts, and a high disregard of mercenary considerations." She could not even join in praise of his good looks.
"I think I have a prejudice against men with square jaws and black hair and light eyes," was all that she said.
But there was a marked constraint in her tone, and Mrs. Vandeleur glanced at her sharply.
"You seem to have taken a dislike against Mr. Armstrong," she said. "It is curious, for his is a nature which should blend perfectly with yours. I should certainly not have thought you had been born under opposing planets."
"I don't feel that I ever want to meet him again!" said Laline, emphatically.