Next minute George entered the room with a stupid smile upon his face, and looking as dazed as a bat that has suddenly been shown the sun. Angela’s heaven-lit beauty had come upon his gross mind as a revelation; it fascinated him, he had lost his command over himself.
“Oh! here you are at last, George,” said Lady Bellamy—it was always her habit to call him George. “We have all been like sheep without a shepherd, though I saw you keeping an eye on the flock through the window.”
George started. He did not know that he had been observed.
“I did not know that you were all here, or I would have been back sooner,” he said, and then began to shake hands.
When he came to Angela, he favoured her with a tender pressure of the fingers and an elaborate and high-flown speech of welcome, both of which were inexpressibly disagreeable to her. But here Lady Bellamy intervened, and skilfully forced him into a conversation with her, in which Philip joined.
“What does Lady Bellamy remind you of?” Angela asked Arthur, as soon as the hum of talk made it improbable that they would be overheard.
“Of an Egyptian sorceress, I think. Look at the low, broad forehead, the curling hair, the full lips, and the inscrutable look of the face.”
“To my mind she is an ideal of the Spirit of Power. I am very much afraid of her, and, as for him”—nodding towards George—“I dislike him even more than I was prepared to,” and she gave a little shudder. “By the way, Mr. Heigham, you really must not be so rash as to accept my father’s invitation.”
“If you do not wish to see me, of course I will not,” he answered, in a hurt and disappointed tone.
“Oh! it is not that, indeed; how could you think so, when only this morning we agreed to be friends?”