With a look of ill-disguised anger on her smooth face, but with an attempted air of humility, the attendant withdrew as softly as she had approached, and Lady Betty recalled her dignity.
“Pshaw!” she said, “what a creature I am, Alice, so to betray myself, and to stoop to quarrel with that worm, Melissa! I did not think, I never think; but, oh, my girl, my lot has many thorns! Alas, and alas!
‘Once I bloomed a maiden young
A widow’s woe now moves my tongue;’
and a widow by desertion. Ah, how I hate the taunt!” and she stamped her foot.
“Heed it not, dear Lady Betty,” murmured Alice, “’tis not true.”
“Ah, but it is, girl, it is,” cried Lady Clancarty, with an impatient gesture, “and I despise myself for caring.”
“Are you sure, madam, that Lord Clancarty has made no effort to claim his bride, or to see you?” Alice asked soberly, standing alone in the triangle opposite Lady Betty, the sun shining in a friendly fashion on her comely, honest face.
“Am I sure?” repeated the countess in surprise, and her expression changed swiftly; “do you think he may have tried to communicate with me and failed?”
“Why not, my lady?” replied the handmaid simply; “we know how my Lord Spencer feels; and your father, the earl, madam, is, perhaps, as little inclined toward your husband.”