They parted. Madam was sweeping on to the dining-room on the arm of a Colonel Carter, whose acquaintance she had made at Homburg, and the rest had to follow. Richard brought up the rear with Miss Field.
Miss Dallory, a rather tall and graceful girl of two-and-twenty, sat between Arthur Bohun and Richard North. She was not particularly handsome, but very pleasing. A fair-complexioned face with plenty of good sense in it, grey eyes rather deeply set, and soft dark-brown hair. Her manners were remarkably open: her speech independent. It was this perhaps--the pleasantness of the speech and manner--that made her a favourite with every one.
The Dallorys were very wealthy. There were three of them: Miss Dallory and her two brothers, John and Frank, both older than herself. They had been left orphans at an early age: their father's will having bequeathed his property almost equally amongst the three; the portion of it entailed on his elder son lay in another county. To the surprise of many people, it was found that he had left Dallory Hall to his daughter; so that, in point of fact, this Miss Dallory, sitting at Mr. North's dinner-table, was owner of the house. It had been the residence of the Dallorys during Mr. Dallory's lifetime: after his death, the trustees let it on lease to Mr. North. The lease had been purchased, so that Mr. North had no rent to pay for it. The lease, however, had now all but terminated. Madam hoped to be able to get it renewed: perhaps that might be one of the reasons why she was now paying court to Mary Dallory. That young lady came into her property when she was one-and-twenty; and all power lay in her own hands. Nearly two years ago Miss Dallory had gone on the Continent with her aunt, Mrs. Leasom. Illness had prolonged Mrs. Leasom's stay there, and they had only just returned. Mrs. Leasom remained at her home in London; Miss Dallory came down at once to her younger brother's house--an extremely pretty place just beyond the Ham.
Dinner progressed. Miss Dallory talked chiefly to Richard, next to whom she sat; Arthur Bohun, on the other side, was rather silent and glum. She was telling them of her travels: and jestingly complaining of finding what she called a grand dinner, when she had thought Mrs. North was only bringing her to dine en famille. For her dress was nothing but a coloured muslin.
"Don't laugh at me, Mr. Richard North. If you had been living in a remote village of Switzerland for months, dining off bonilli and a tough chicken in your aunt's chamber, you would think this grandeur itself."
"I did not laugh," answered Richard. "It is a great deal grander than I like."
"Where is Mr. North?" she asked, slightly lowering her voice.
Richard shook his head. "The grandeur, as you call it, has tired him, Miss Dallory. He dines almost always in his own room: I join him as often as I can."
"I hear he is breaking," she continued, her deep grey eyes looking straight at Richard, pity and concern in their depths. "Frank says so."
"He is breaking sadly. The prolonged strain is too much for him."