“Who is that?” said Emmeline eagerly, as she followed them with her eyes.
“It is Mrs. Osterley,” replied Pelham. “She is a Vienna acquaintance of ours, and just returned from abroad.”
Emmeline again breathed; but, complaining of the heat of the tea-room, got up and went towards the door. Mr. Pelham smiled on her in compassion as he drew her arm within his, and suffered her to lead him which way she chose, and they soon found themselves among the crowd of waltzers. Fitzhenry was then dancing with Mrs. Osterley, and when they stopped, it was close by Emmeline; though an intervening waltzing pair, also pausing in their giddy labours, hid her entirely from their view.
“Who was that you were talking to in the tea-room when I went to claim you so inconsiderately?” said Mrs. Osterley to her partner.
“Don’t you know?” answered he, rather embarrassed by the question, or rather by the manner in which it was put; “it was Lady Fitzhenry.”
“Lady Fitzhenry! your wife! you surprise me! what a very pretty woman she is! I had heard her so differently described; she is an uncommonly interesting looking person, vraiment je vous en fais mon compliment.”
Fitzhenry bowed; and Emmeline could see that the mantling blood had tinged even his forehead.
“And from what I further heard,” continued his gay companion, looking archly in his face, “I should have thought you were the last man to have been detected in a flirtation with your wife; though really, now I have seen her, I do not wonder she should have made you a little volage.”
“I had gone in search of Pelham,” said Fitzhenry, coldly, apparently much disconcerted by her remark.
“Oh! is that the way of it?” retorted Mrs. Osterley laughing: “well, I really cannot pity you; it is but fair play, for you richly deserve it. But is Pelham really at last caught? Well, I shall be truly curious to become acquainted with the piece of perfection who has had power to overcome his impenetrable insensibility—pray do introduce me to your wife.” And she again laughed more heartily than before.