In the midst of the laughter that greeted this sally, Peggie was heard to exclaim, in a voice of mock-horror, "Prue! how shocking!"
"My dear, you must blame Mr. Prior, not me, if you object to the quotation," said Prue demurely.
"Maybe," retorted Peggie; "but in conversation one can not see the inverted commas, and you know Lord Beachcombe does not read poetry."
"True, I apologize," said Prue, and turning again to her former suitor, she dropped a deep curtsey. "How is it, Lord Beachcombe, that we have not seen you earlier?" she asked graciously. "When did you arrive from—home? and did you leave her ladyship and the baby well?"
The laugh that followed this was utterly incomprehensible to the proud father, who replied with urbanity, feeling that Prue showed great self-denial in making these inquiries so publicly and exposing herself to the hilarity of those who could not fail to remember how she had forfeited the proud position of wife to the present and mother of the future Earl of Beachcombe. He felt quite sorry for the regret and mortification she must be suffering and was inclined to concede that the punishment was overharsh for the frailty of a creature so winsome.
He offered his hand to lead her into the supper-room and the magnetic thrill of her touch sent the blood surging through his veins in the old accustomed way—he looked down into the sparkling depths of her lovely eyes and straightway forgot—everything that he ought to have remembered. It needed but the gloomy frown of Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert to incite him to offer the most effusive attentions and Prue to permit, if not actually encourage them, until wearying of a pastime that had nothing to recommend it but its folly, she turned the battery of her fascinations in another direction.
It must not be supposed that Lord Beachcombe was without curiosity as to the use Robin had made of the invitation and disguise he had borrowed so peremptorily. He questioned several people, but no one seemed to have observed the scarlet domino, and the one person who could have enlightened him, he did not dream of connecting with the exploits of a highwayman. He began to feel reassured, and a couple of bottles of wine helped to restore his damaged amour propre, though his temper was considerably ruffled. He followed Prue to the ball-room, but his invitation to dance was coldly declined and he retreated to the card-room where Sir Geoffrey was already seated and hailed his coming with fierce joy. It would be strange, indeed, he argued, if means could not be found to fasten a quarrel upon a man who came to the card-table with a naturally morose temper heated with wine and still further excited by the bitter-sweet arts of a coquette.
That Beachcombe was still infatuated with his old love, Sir Geoffrey had not the slightest doubt, and that he had persuaded her to jilt him he had, as he firmly believed, the evidence of his own senses.
The play was high, and Sir Geoffrey's luck had taken another turn. The pile of guineas in front of him grew apace and gradually the others dropped out, except Beachcombe, who had also been winning, though not so largely. His luck soon gave way before Sir Geoffrey's, and in a short time he had lost all his winnings and a considerable sum besides. Seeing him hesitate and half rise from the table, his opponent laughingly exclaimed, "Don't leave me, Beachcombe; I'm in the vein to-night—"
"Unlucky in love, lucky at cards," sneered Beachcombe. "I see the widow has jilted you."