"With Miss Hunsden, perhaps—certainly not with me. Come, Mr.
Grosvenor."
It was the first spiteful shaft Lady Louise had ever condescended to launch, and she bit her lip angrily an instant after, as George whirled her away.
"Idiot that I am," she thought, "to show him I can stoop to be piqued—to show him I can be jealous—to show him I care for him like this! He will get to fancy I love him next, and he—he has had neither eyes nor ears for any one else since he saw Harrie Hunsden this morning."
A sharp, quick pain pierced the proud breast of the earl's daughter, for she did love him, and she knew it—as much as it was in her lymphatic nature to love at all.
"I will never forgive him—never!" her white teeth clinched. "The dastard—to play the devoted to me, and then desert me at the first sight of a madcap on horseback. I will never stoop to say one civil word to him again."
Lady Louise kept her vow. Sir Everard, penitent and remorseful, strove to make his peace in vain.
Lord Carteret's daughter listened icily, sent barbed shafts tipped with poison from her tongue in reply, danced with him once, and steadily refused to dance again.
Sir Everard gave it up and went in search of Miss Hunsden, and was accepted by that young lady for a redowa.
"I thought you would have asked me ages ago," said Harrie, with delicious frankness. "I saw you were a good dancer, and that is more than I can say for any other gentleman present, except Lord Ernest. Ah, Lord Ernest can waltz! It is the height of ball-room bliss to be his partner. But you stayed away to quarrel with Lady Louise, I suppose?"
"I have not been quarreling with Lady Louise," replied, Sir Everard, feeling guiltily conscious all the same.