Moreover, no one could fail to see that he was handsome. He had never looked better, in her eyes, than on that evening. It was a situation not only to stir curiosity, but suggest thoughts of rivalry.
And perhaps Julia Girdwood had them. It was the first time she had figured in the company of titled aristocracy. It would not be strange if her fancy was affected in such presence. Higher pride than hers has succumbed to its influence.
She was not the only one of her party who gave way to the wayward influences of the hour, and the seductions of their charming host Mr Lucas, inspired by repeated draughts of sherry and champagne, forgot his past antipathies, and of course burned to embrace him. Mr Lucas’s shadow, Spiller, was willing to do the same!
Perhaps the only one of Mrs Girdwood’s set who preserved independence, was the daughter of the Poughkeepsie shopkeeper. In her quiet, unpretending way, Cornelia showed dignity for superior to that of her own friends, or even the grand people to whom they had been presented.
But even she had no suspicion of the shams that surrounded her. No more than her aunt Girdwood did she dream that Mr Swinton was Mr Swinton; that the countess was his wife; that the count was an impostor—like Swinton himself playing a part; and that the Honourable Geraldine was a lady of Mrs Swinton’s acquaintance, alike accomplished and equally well-known in the circles of Saint John’s Wood, under the less aristocratic cognomen of “Kate the coper.” Belonging to the sisterhood of “pretty horse-breakers,” she had earned this sobriquet by exhibiting superior skill in disposing of her cast steeds!
Utterly ignorant of the game that was being played, as of the players, Mrs Girdwood spent the evening in a state approaching to supreme delight Mr Swinton, ever by her side, took the utmost pains to cancel the debt of hospitality long due; and he succeeded in cancelling it.
If she could have had any suspicion of his dishonesty, it would have been dispelled by an incident that occurred during the course of the evening.
As it was an episode interrupting the entertainment, we shall be excused for describing it.
The guests in the drawing-room were taking tea and coffee, carried round to them by the savants—a staff hired from a fashionable confectionery—when the gate-bell jingled under the touch of a hand that appeared used to the pulling of it.
“I can tell that ring,” said Swinton, speaking loud enough for his guests to hear him. “I’ll lay a wager it’s Lord —.”