The Earl's heavy lids almost concealed his eyes; he smiled, ignoring both the remark and the speaker.
"I shall await you on Monday; now I must no longer trespass on your time—au revoir." He bowed, not it seemed to Mr. Hilton, but to some intangible quality in the room, and turned to the door, swinging his gloves.
The older man was profuse and respectful in his leave-taking; my lord smiled beyond and above him, remote in an unnatural composure.
Mr. Hilton accompanied him down the stairs, not forgoing the moment on the doorstep when the idlers round the green chariot turned agape to see the Earl, to mark his companion and the intimate manner of their parting.
My lord was still noticeably pale when he mounted the curricle; as he gathered up the reins he shuddered.
The groom sprang to his place behind and the impatient white horses trampled the dust with joy.
My lord looked over his shoulder and saw Mr. Hilton lingering on the doorstep—he stood up and whispered to the horses.
As the chariot sped glittering down the street, one of the loiterers hailed a new-comer:
"There goes Lord Lyndwood—driving like the devil!"