Sophia, supporting herself by a gate, and now laughing hysterically, now repressing with difficulty the inclination to weep, watched him return. She saw him through a mist of smiles and tears. For the moment she forgot that he was her husband, forgot that this was the meeting so long and greatly dreaded.
He sprang from his horse.
"You're not hurt?" he cried. "Child----" and then, with astonishment she saw that he was speechless.
Her own words came easily; even her manner was eager and unembarrassed. "No," she cried, "nor Lady Betty! You came just in time, Sir Hervey."
"Thank God, I did," he answered; "thank God! And you are sure, child, you are none the worse? You are not hurt?"
"No," she answered, laughing, as people laugh in moments of agitation. "Not a bit! You are looking at my dress? Oh, we have had adventures, a vast lot of adventures, Sir Hervey! It would take a day to tell them, wouldn't it, Betty? Betty's my maid, Sir Hervey." She was above herself. She spoke gaily and archly, as Betty might have spoken.
"Lady Betty your maid?" he exclaimed, turning to Betty, who blushed and laughed. "What do you mean?"
"Mean? Why only--hush, where is Tom? Oh, repairing himself! Why, only a frolic, Sir Hervey! Tom took her for my woman, and we want to keep him in it! So not a word, if you please. This is Betty the maid, you'll remember?"
"I obey," Sir Hervey answered. "But to tell the truth," he continued soberly, "my head turns. Where did you meet Tom, my dear? What has happened to you? And why are you wearing--that queer cloak? And where are your shoes?"
"It's not very becoming, is it?" she cried, and she looked at him. Never before in her life had she played the coquette, never; now in this moment of unrestrained feeling, her eyes, provocative as Lady Betty's, challenged the compliment. And she wondered at herself.