That in their kind they speak it.
--Shakespere.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions.
--Ibid.
The night of the great and last party at Grahame’s mansion in the Regent’s Park was, in the anticipation of Mrs. Grahame, to have proved a crowning triumph of calculation. Upon this night she expected the Duke of St. Allborne to propose to her daughter, Margaret. He did propose, and his offer was accepted, but not in accordance with Mrs. Grahame’s plan. This night of splendid triumph, as it was to have been, proved to her a night of horror. The presence of Lester Vane threw her into a state of nervous apprehension and agitation, for fear that he would disclose the conduct and disappearance of her daughter, Helen. She observed, however, with as much gratification as she could feel in such a condition of flurry and alarm, that the Duke maintained a position close to Margaret during the early part of the evening, and devoted himself to her. She saw them retire into the garden, and she believed her hopes would be fulfilled. She had no conception of what was about to happen.
The music played joyously, the dancers whirled around in festive enjoyment, and the absence of Lester Vane for a time gave to Mrs. Grahame’s perturbed mind great relief; but Lester Vane again returned, and in spite of her manouvres he contrived to elude the proximity to him which she strove to keep up. She was, however, once more soothed by seeing him depart. Shortly, however, after he had gone she noticed a decided movement in her guests; one by one they disappeared, and rapidly too. In corners of the handsome saloon groups gathered and stood whispering, until she approached them; then they separated, and coolly bowed to her as they passed, but they unmistakeably at the same time left the house.
Evangeline approached her, and whispered to her—
“What has happened to Margaret, mamma? and why do some of these haughty people speak in terms of contempt of her?”
A flash of lightning seemed to dart through Mrs. Grahame’s brain. The blood rushed back to her heart; her eyes seemed filled with blood; she gazed with hazy vision round the room—to do so was a tremendous effort, but, though it had slain her, she must have done it.