Alboni had excelled herself; and they were so sorry Gertrude did not go. "But, perhaps," whispered Netta, "you have enjoyed yourself more at home." But Gertrude, as she stood leaning unconcernedly upon Mr. Phillips' arm, looked so innocent of confusion or embarrassment, that her manner refuted Netta's suspicions.
"Miss Clinton was there," continued Netta, "and looked beautiful. She had a crowd of gentlemen about her; but didn't you notice (and she turned to Mrs. Petrancourt) that one met with such marked favour that I wonder the rest were not discouraged. I mean that tall, handsome young man who waited upon her into the hall and went out soon after. She devoted herself to him while he stayed."
"The same one, was it not," asked Ellen, "who towards the close of the concert came in and stood leaning against the wall for some minutes?"
"Yes," answered Netta; "but he only waited for Alboni to finish singing, and then approaching Miss Clinton, whispered in her ear. After that she got up, left her seat, and they both went off, rather to the mortification of the other gentlemen."
"Oh, it is not strange, under the circumstances," said Mr. Petrancourt, "that Miss Clinton should prefer a walk with Mr. Sullivan to the best music in the world."
"Why?" asked Netta. "Is he very agreeable? Is he supposed to be the favoured one?"
"I should think there was no doubt of it," answered Mr. Petrancourt. "I believe it is generally thought to be an engagement. He was in Paris with them during the spring, and they all came home in the same steamer. Everybody knows it is the wish of Mr. Clinton's heart, and Miss Isabel makes no secret of her preference."
"Oh, certainly," interposed Mrs. Pentracourt; "it is an understood thing."
What became of Gertrude all this time? Could she, who for six years had nursed the fond idea that to Willie she was, and should still continue to be, all in all—could she stand patiently by and hear him thus disposed of and given to another? She did do it; not consciously, however, for her head swam round, and she would have fallen but for the firm support of Mr. Phillips, who held her arm so tightly that, though he felt, the rest could not see how she trembled. Fortunately, too, none but he saw her blanched face; and, as she stood in the shadow, he alone was watching the strained and eager eyes, the parted and rigid lips, the death-like pallor of her countenance.
Standing there with her heart beating, and almost believing herself in a horrid dream, she listened, heard, and comprehended every word. She could not, however, have spoken or moved for her life, and in an instant more accident might have betrayed her excited condition. But Mr. Phillips acted, spoke, and moved for her, and she was spared an exposure from which her sensitive spirit would have shrunk.