"I dare say Monsieur Davilliers and the Vicomte had begun the treaty long ago," said Elsie, laughing; "but we only heard of the intended marriage three or four days ago."
"And Deering, he is still here?" looking keenly at her.
"Yes"; all her gravity returning. "He called this morning just before you came; I did not see him, for, it is very extraordinary, my father has turned against Mr. Vincent, who is always with Mr. Deering; that I do not mind; but though he says less about it, I think he is quite as distrustful of Mr. Deering. Now I have got over my first foolish fear of him; he is so gentle and polite, and seems to want to be friends with my father. I do not understand it all; but I never dispute what my dear father says. He knows more of life than I can possibly do. Yet I want very much to hear all about the lady Mr. Deering thinks me so like. He promised to tell me when he knew me better. Everything seems so changed since our pleasant dinner at the Café de Madrid, not two months ago."
"Such days and dinners do not come often," said Glynn, with a quick sigh. "I hope all this worry does not prevent you singing as much as you used?"
"Oh, no! it is the only pleasure I have."
"Is it too presumptuous of me to ask for a song now?"
Elsie did not answer for a moment; she put her elbows on the table, clasped her hands together, and resting her cheek on her interlaced fingers, said very slowly, "No; I could not sing to-day, I should break down—the tears would come—I had better not try."
"Then I will not ask you;—but tell me, when shall I see your father?"
"He will certainly call upon you. I am not sure if he will return to dinner, or I would beg you to dine with us."
"Thank you; we will reserve that pleasure for future arrangement. I am staying as usual at the hotel Wagram, and have letters to write which will keep me in till past eleven to-morrow, should Captain Lambert feel disposed to call."