"Oh, tell them to cook a chop," he responded in a hurried tone. "Don't fidget about me, Louie; I shall do well enough. The fact is, I was half engaged to dine with Greystock, and then he suddenly remembered that Lady Waterville had asked him this evening. The old lady ages visibly."
"Did you see her?" I said, pausing with my hand on the bell.
"Yes; Greystock made me go in and speak to her. She was very glad to see me, I believe; but of course she maundered on about our wickedness in getting married. I saw that Ida Lorimer was laughing quietly behind her."
"Oh, was Miss Lorimer there?"
I put the question with all possible calmness, but the blood rushed into my cheeks, making them burn intolerably for a moment. I took care that he should not see my face.
"Yes; she is often there," he replied. "Greystock is a great ally of hers; and he has persuaded her to take pity on the old soul in her loneliness. Lady Waterville was really fond of you, Louie. She misses you so much that she can't help being bitter."
"She used to be very good to me," I said, with a sigh.
"Everybody would be good to you, little woman, if you would let them. But you take far too gloomy a view of people, and of life in general; and your face is getting to wear a settled look of melancholy. Lady Waterville asked, quite maliciously, if you were not rather dismal now-a-days?"
"How did she know I was dismal?" inquired, with a desperate effort to be composed.
"Well, I suppose she questioned Ida. You know, my dear girl, you looked like a mute at a funeral when you dined at Mrs. Baldock's. I don't know what possessed you."