'And he actually hung over Ida—Mrs. Beverley, I mean—unseen by me.'
'Yes; closer than good breeding warranted. You must have been very much absorbed not to have seen him,' said the Colonel, with a wicked smile in his old eyes.
'I was indeed absorbed, Colonel.'
'Don't wonder at it; there are not many Ida Beverleys even in the world of London. But, egad, the butler must be told to have an eye upon the plate-chest—the racing-cups and silver spoons!'
Who was this strange-looking man whom the Colonel could not describe, yet had so distinctly seen close by Ida's chair, listening, doubtless, to all their remarkable conversation? It was, to say the least of it, a most ungentlemanly proceeding; and Jerry, amid the clatter of tongues around him, strove to remember all they had said, and whether he had let fall anything that shed a light upon their past relations and his present hopes; with the pleasant conviction that the eavesdropper must have heard much that was intended for Ida's ear alone!
'By Jove!' thought Jerry, 'if I had caught the fellow, there would have been an unseemly scene among the Colonel's majolica flower-pots, his orchids, and azaleas.'
The interview in the conservatory, and the strange emotion that came over her, had somewhat wearied Ida; and like Clare, who had overheard some unmistakable remarks on the 'coming event'—remarks certainly not meant for her sensitive ear—she was anxious to be home.
'A game old fellah,' she heard Lord Brixton say—a peer whose only known ancestor was one of the cottonocracy—to another, whose adjusted eye-glass was focussed on Sir Carnaby; 'game indeed! but will live to repent his matrimonial folly. She'll lead him a dance, believe me, don't you know.'
Even the servants in the hall and at the portico had heard some rumour, for there fell upon Clare's ear, as they swept out to the carriage, something like this:—
'Oh, yes! I knows 'em—the Honourable Miss Desmond, with her big mastiff, whip, and wissel, and only Sir Carnaby on dooty. I've seen 'em by the Serpentine many times.'