For days before the ball the house was full of eager and expectant guests. Smart young men from town and the prettiest girls of the neighbourhood gladly accepted invitations to stay at the Heights. The host and hostess were seen on this occasion at their very best. Nance, under her husband’s protecting wing, lost much of her inborn shyness. Her gentle beauty, her sweet low voice, her affectionate and sympathetic manner, could not fail to make her a universal favourite. As to Rowton, he was, as Lady Georgina Strong expressed it, every inch a man of the world, and, she was wont to add, fascinating at that.
“There is a certain air of mystery about your husband, Nancy,” she said on one occasion to the young wife, “which much adds to his attractions. He is delightful, gay, debonair; but watch him, he never talks of himself. He never tells anybody what he does with his time.”
“With his time?” said Nance, looking slightly startled. “What is there to tell?”
“I only allude to his mysterious absences,” said Lady Georgina in a light tone. “Dear me, child, you need not turn so pale—he is with you now. He always was a favourite, and he will go on being so to his dying day. I sometimes wish he were a little more of a flirt, however; it would be glorious to have a flirtation with him. How you open your eyes! You think because he is your husband——”
“There are few men like Adrian,” said Nance, in a proud tone, “and he——”—her lips trembled; she could not get out the next words.
“You are a greedy little creature,” said Lady Georgina, who was watching her closely. “You need not fear that he will ever flirt with anybody but you. Why, child, he loves you to distraction. I only say that I consider it scarcely fair of you to keep such a man all to yourself.”
Nancy laughed almost gaily. She did not often laugh. There was an under vein of sadness in her, which not all her present great happiness could quite remove.
Sweeping her arm round her waist, Lady Georgina led her into the next room.
“Come,” she said, “you must not hide your charms. You are too much of the violet in the shade. Don’t you know that you and your husband are simply worshipped by everyone in the house?—you and your husband, and that dear manly boy, Murray.”
“Ah, anyone would love Murray,” said Nancy; and this was true.