Evidently Miss Ford, dignified though she looked, was not above amusing herself at the expense of a rather stupid young man.
Baron Lemde smiled all over his handsome, meaningless face, and dropped a little into the rear, embracing Miss Ford’s shawl with effusion, while she stood, still the centre of the group, and the Countess of Trockenau paused, looking thoughtful.
‘It is too bad of you, Miss Ford,’ said the other English girl in her ear. ‘How can you make fun of poor Lemde and make others laugh at him in that way?’
Sara smiled a bright, frank, disdainful smile, and the Countess of Trockenau said:
‘Well, shall we be going?’
‘Oh—h—h!’ sighed the younger English girl, with an accent of disappointment.
‘Mein Fräulein,’ began Lemde, bending towards Sara, who neither heard nor saw him; or if she did, did not notice him.
He saw that her eyes were fixed upon some one who approached them; her lips were gravely set, yet in their sweet and gracious curve there was an expression which, though it was not for him, made the simple young baron’s heart beat faster. His glance followed hers. The silent watcher had arisen from his hiding-place, and was advancing towards them. He met Sara Ford’s eyes, and took off his hat. In another moment they were shaking hands, and though she was self-possessed, and almost distant in her manner, poor Hans von Lemde’s heart fell.
‘Good-evening, Miss Ford.’
‘Good-evening, Mr. Wellfield. I did not see you at the concert. Were you not there?’