"It cannot be true," cried Miss Graham, flushing crimson with anger.
"It is one of Lord Caversham's absurd stories; and I dare say is
without the slightest foundation. I cannot and will not believe that
Douglas Dale would throw himself away upon such a woman as this Madame
Durski."
"You have never seen her?"
"Of course not."
"Then don't speak so very confidently," said Captain Graham, who was malicious enough to take some pleasure in his sister's discomfiture. "Paulina Durski is one of the handsomest women I ever saw; not above five-and-twenty years of age—elegant, fascinating, patrician—a woman for whose sake a wiser man than Douglas Dale might be willing to sacrifice himself."
"I will see Mr. Dale," exclaimed Lydia. "I will ascertain from his own lips whether there is any foundation for this report."
"How will you contrive to see him?" "You must arrange that for me. You can invite him to dinner."
"I can invite him; but the question is whether he will come. Perhaps, if you were to write him a note, he would be more flattered than by any verbal invitation from me."
Lydia was not slow to take this hint. She wrote one of those charming and flattering epistles which an artful and self-seeking woman of the world so well knows how to pen. She expressed her surprise and regret at not having seen Mr. Dale since her return to town—her fear that he might be ill, her hope that he would accept an invitation to a friendly dinner with herself and her brother, who was also most anxious about him.
She was not destined to disappointment. On the following day she received a brief note from Mr. Dale, accepting her invitation for the next evening.
The note was very stiffly—nay, almost coldly worded; but Lydia attributed the apparent lack of warmth to the reserved nature of Douglas Dale, rather than to any failure of her own scheme.