"No such luck. She's married. And so am I."
"Pardon, Stanley; I forgot it. When a fellow marries over in India, the fact is apt to slip out of one's memory."
"By Jove here she comes! She has turned back again. The green carriage and dark livery. I knew I saw it. Isn't she——"
"Take care of your horse," interrupted Lord Winchester; "here's another cab."
"Hang the cabs! Look at her."
An open barouche was approaching. One lady sat within it. Lord Winchester caught sight of an exquisite toilette, and then, the point-lace parasol being slightly moved, of an exquisite face. A young face, looking younger, perhaps, than it really was; clearly cut, delicate features; cheeks of a rich damask, brown glossy hair, and soft dark eyes of wonderful brightness.
"There's a picture for you!" murmured the enamoured Captain Stanley, letting his horse go as it would. "And the face is nothing to her fascination, when you come to talk to her. She has sent half London wild."
Off went his hat, for the bright eyes were smiling, and the fair head bowing to him. But off went Lord Winchester's also: for a brighter smile and a more familiar recognition, though one of surprise, greeted him.
"Halloa, Winchester! I say, that's too bad!" cried Captain Stanley, when they had passed. "You know her?"
"Knew her before I knew you. She's Selina Dalrymple."