"Don't say to—to any one—that I came, Hilson," she whispered, as she shrank into a corner of the carriage: and Hilson discerned that by "any one" she must especially mean Sir Francis Netherleigh.
"You may depend upon me, my lady. Chenevix House," he added to the friendly coachman: and closed the door on the unhappy woman who was once his master's indulged and idolized wife.
"How she is changed!" thought Gerard, gazing after the carriage as it bowled away. "Hilson," he said, turning to the butler, "I must see your master for a minute or two. Have you any room that you can put me into, away from this crowd?"
"There's the housekeeper's parlour, sir: if you don't mind going there. It's quite empty."
"All right, Tell Sir Francis I bring a note from Mr. Howard. Something important, I believe."
[CHAPTER XXXIV.]
ON LADY LIVINGSTONE'S ARM.
The stately rooms were thrown open for the reception of the guests, and the evening was already waning. Wax-lights innumerable shed their rays on the gilded decorations, the exquisite paintings, the gorgeous dresses of the ladies; the enlivening strains of the band invited to the dance, and rare exotics shed forth a sweet perfume. Admission to the residence of Sir Francis Netherleigh was coveted by the gay world.
"There's a tear!" almost screamed a pretty-looking girl. By some mishap in the dancing-room her partner had contrived to put his foot upon her thin white dress, and the bottom of the skirt was half torn away.
"Quite impossible than I can finish the quadrille," quoth she, half in amusement, half provoked at the misfortune. "You must find another partner whilst I go and have this repaired."