My flattered vanity sank to zero.
“It has been extensively advertised,” I began impressively,—but she interrupted me with a laugh.
“Oh I never read advertisements,—it’s too much trouble. When I asked if you were the famous Mr Tempest, I meant to say were you the great millionaire who has been so much talked of lately?”
[p 90]
I bowed a somewhat chill assent. She looked at me inquisitively over the lace edge of her fan.
“How delightful it must be for you to have so much money!” she said—“And you are young too, and good-looking.”
Pleasure took the place of vexed amour-propre and I smiled.
“You are very kind, Lady Sibyl!”
“Why?” she asked laughing,—such a delicious little low laugh—“Because I tell you the truth? You are young and you are good-looking! Millionaires are generally such appalling creatures. Fortune, while giving them money, frequently deprives them of both brains and personal attractiveness. And now do tell me about your book!”
She seemed to have suddenly dispensed with her former reserve, and during the last act of the play, we conversed freely, in whispers which assisted us to become almost confidential. Her manner to me now was full of grace and charm, and the fascination she exerted over my senses became complete. The performance over, we all left the box together, and as Lucio was still apparently engrossed with Lord Elton I had the satisfaction of escorting Lady Sibyl to her carriage. When her father joined her, Lucio and I both stood together looking in at the window of the brougham, and the Earl, getting hold of my hand shook it up and down with boisterous friendliness.
“Come and dine,—come and dine!” he spluttered excitedly; “Come—let me see,—this is Tuesday—come on Thursday. Short notice and no ceremony! My wife is paralysed I’m sorry to say,—she can’t receive,—she can only see a few people now and then when she is in the humour,—her sister keeps house and does the honours,—Aunt Charlotte, eh Sibyl?—ha-ha-ha! The Deceased Wife’s Sister’s Bill would never be any use to me, for if my wife were to die I shouldn’t be anxious to marry Miss Charlotte Fitzroy! Ha ha ha! A perfectly unapproachable woman sir!—a model,—ha ha! Come and dine with us, Mr Tempest,—Lucio, [p 91] you bring him along with you, eh? We’ve got a young lady staying with us,—an American, dollars, accent and all,—and by Jove I believe she wants to marry me ha ha ha! and is waiting for Lady Elton to go to a better world first, ha ha! Come along—come and see the little American, eh? Thursday shall it be?”