She leaned her head back against the satin cushions of the carriage and closed her eyes wearily!
"I beg your pardon," said her companion's voice, arousing her suddenly from the deathly faintness that was stealing over her, "but I think you must be Miss Bonnibel Vere, Mrs. Arnold's niece. Perhaps you have heard her mention me. I am Colonel Carlyle."
Bonnibel opened her eyes with a start, and looked at him, instantly recalling the gossip of her maid, Lucy. So this was Colonel Carlyle, Felise Herbert's elderly lover. She gave him a quick, curious glance.
He was an old man, certainly, and apparently made no attempt to disguise the fact, for the curling locks that still clustered abundantly on his head were silvered by time, as well as the long beard that flowed down upon his breast.
His features were aristocratic in contour, his mouth rather stern, his eyes still dark and piercing, though he could not have been less than seventy years old. He was dressed with taste and elegance, and his stately form was quite erect and stately.
"Yes, I have heard of you, Colonel Carlyle," Bonnibel answered, quietly, "but I cannot imagine how you could know who I am. We have never met before."
"No," he answered, with a gallant bow and smile, "we have not, I have never had the happiness of meeting you, though I have frequently visited at your home. But the fame of Miss Vere's beauty has gone forth into the land, and when you named your address I knew you could be no other."
Bonnibel bowed silently. Something in the graceful flattery of his words or tone jarred upon her. Besides, she was in such pain from her ankle that she felt it an effort to speak.
He observed the whiteness of her face, and said quickly: