As he reached the Marble Arch Frederick espied an old beggar woman who was squatting outside on the pavement close to the park railings. She was a repulsive-looking object. Her face was seamed and lined with numerous wrinkles, clearly defined by the dirt which was in them; her bushy gray eyebrows were drawn frowningly over her watery, red-rimmed blue eyes; her nose was hooked like the beak of a bird of prey, and from her thin-lipped mouth two yellow tusks protruded, like those of a wild boar.
Frederick, with one of those momentary contrasts which made him so difficult to understand, stopped in front of the old crone and dropped a guinea into her palm. She raised one skinny hand to shade her eyes and looked curiously at the generous stranger.
“Thank ye, my lord,” muttered she.
“You'll drink it,” I suppose, said Frederick, gazing at her inflamed nose and sunken cheeks, which bore unmistakable signs of debauchery.
“Werry likely,” retorted the hag with a grin; “I'm a fortune to the public 'ouse, I am. And it's the only pleasure I 'ave in my blooming life, blarst it!”
Ignoring this polite speech, the young man directed his steps to the Kingsbury residence, and was ushered by the groom of the chambers into the morning-room of the marchioness. It was a long, low apartment, oak-paneled, and had an embossed and emblazoned ceiling from which silver lamps of old Italian work hung by silver chains. The blinds were drawn down, and the hues of the tapestry, of the ivories which stood here and there on the carved brackets, of the paintings on the walls, and of the embroideries on the satin furniture, made a rich chiaro-oscuro of color. Large baskets and vases full of roses and lilies rendered the air heavy with their intoxicating odor.
Frederick sat down on a low couch to await the mistress of the house. His brows were knit and he murmured to himself abstractedly.
“Do they know it already? Hardly yet, I should think. Well, I must make bonne contenance if I wish to win the game. By Heaven! it's worth the candle.”
He had been brooding in this fashion for some ten minutes, when the door opened, and Lady Kingsbury, wrapped in a loose gown of olive-colored cashmere, with a profusion of old lace at her breast, and open sleeves, entered the room. She was very pale, and her still beautiful eyes showed traces of weeping.
She advanced toward Frederick with outstretched hands, saying in a broken, unsteady voice: