"A rarity! truth in the Gazette! no one will suspect it, my dear; I think Miss Boyle frightens herself for nothing."
His languid eyes roved over the ballroom, his indolent handsome profile was towards his cousin, who flushed unseen under her mask, accusing him of lack of frankness and friendliness in thus dealing with her.
"You resent my interference," she said in a low tone, "and, of a surety, I put myself in an ungracious position, but do we not know each other well enough—and, and like each other well enough, Rose, for me to venture to speak to you as Miss Boyle's mouthpiece?"
"You do us both an honour," answered my lord. "Only, I cannot see that the affair calls for comment from anyone, even from Miss Boyle;" he slightly raised his fair brows. "Surely these things are better ignored?"
And still he looked at the ballroom, and still Miss Chressham had the sense that he was not with her, not moved or even interested by what she said; yet she must be mistaken; he was interested, vitally, and his seeming indifference was but the reserve he chose to show her, so she told herself; but either way, this manner of his made it difficult for her.
"I think you take it too lightly, Rose," she said. "If you could have seen Miss Boyle's distress."
Again that faint flush in his averted face; he tapped his mask against his knee.
"What was her actual message to me?"
"There was none, she is going away if she can; she trusted me to see you, her wish was to prevent a meeting between you and Sir Francis."