“A brilliant ball, last night, was it not?” he added, extending his hand to me, in farewell, and looking at me intently with eyes that fascinated and repelled me at once.
“Very, but—but—you were not there?”
“Was I not? I have a strong impression that I was. Ask my lady if she thinks I was there. And now good-bye, and au revoir!”
He loosened my hand, descended the steps, entered the carriage, and was driven away. His departure ought to have raised a great weight from my mind, but it did not; it impressed me with a sense of coming disaster.
Adelaide breakfasted in her room. When I had finished I went to her. Her behavior puzzled me. She seemed elated, excited, at the absence of Sir Peter, and yet, suddenly turning to me, she exclaimed, eagerly:
“Oh, May! I wish I had been going to England, too! I wish I could leave this place, and never see it again.”
“Was Sir Peter at the ball, Adelaide?” I asked.
She turned suddenly pale; her lip trembled; her eye wavered, as she said in a low, uneasy voice:
“I believe he was—yes; in domino.”
“What a sneaking thing to do!” I remarked, candidly. “He had told us particularly that he was not coming.”