“Ah!” he said, with a sharp sigh—and that was all. He bowed, and turned away to speak to a man who had been waiting at his elbow for some minutes. This also was a Frenchman, who seemed to have something special to report, for they walked aside together.
It was quite late in the evening before Deulin succeeded in his efforts to get a few moments' speech with Lady Orlay. He found that unmatched hostess at leisure in the brief space elapsing between the arrival of the latest and the departure of the earliest.
“I was looking for you,” she said; “you, who always know where everybody is. Where is Mr. Mangles? An under-secretary was asking for him a moment ago.”
“Mangles is listening to the music in the library—comparatively happy by himself behind a barricade of flowers.”
“And that preposterous woman?”
“That preposterous woman is in the refreshment-room.”
Thus they spoke of the great lecturer on Prison Wrongs.
“You have seen the Bukatys?” inquired Lady Orlay. “I called on them the moment I received your note from Paris. They are here to-night. I have never seen such a complexion. Is it characteristic of Poland?”
“I think so,” replied Deulin, with unusual shortness, looking away across the room.
Lady Orlay's clever eyes flashed round for a moment, and she looked grave. It was as if she had pushed open the door of another person's room.