"Can you tell me, child, anything about that horrible fat old Frenchman, who has begun to speak English since his return?" asked Lady Jane Lennox of Beatrix, whom she stopped, just touching her arm with the tip of her finger, as she was passing. Lady Jane was leaning back indolently, and watching the movements of M. Varbarriere with a disagreeable interest.
"That's Monsieur Varbarriere," answered Beatrix.
"Yes, I know that; but who is he—what is he? I wish he were gone," replied she.
"I really know nothing of him," replied Beatrix, with a smile.
"Yes, you do know something about him: for instance, you know he's the uncle of that handsome young man who accompanied him." This Lady Jane spoke with a point which caused on a sudden a beautiful scarlet to tinge the young girl's cheeks.
Lady Jane looked at her, without a smile, without archness, with a lowering curiosity and something of pain, one might fancy, even of malignity.
Lady Jane hooked her finger in Beatrix's bracelet, and lowering her eyes to the carpet, remained silent, it seemed to the girl undecided whether to speak or not on some doubtful subject. With a vague interest Beatrix watched her handsome but sombre countenance, till Lady Jane appearing to escape from her thoughts, with a little toss of her beautiful head and a frown, said, looking up—
"Beatrix, I have such frightful dreams sometimes. I am ill, I think; I am horribly nervous to-night."
"Would you like to go to your room? Maybe if you were to lie down, Lady Jane—"
"By-and-by, perhaps—yes." She was still stealthily watching Varbarriere.