Montmorency was seated in the greenroom at the conclusion of the play, engaged in that absent train of thought known as a brown-study. The more he saw of the fascinating Fonblanque, the more he was captivated. Every hour spent in her society but served to rivet more closely the chain which bound him to her. Should he condescend and make her an offer of his hand, she would naturally be influenced by a profound sense of gratitude, when she discovered that she had married a man of fortune and a Stanley! Whereas, if he had married the rich Miss Anstruther, he would have had her money-bags perpetually thrown in his face. A silver-toned utterance fell on his ears. Looking up, he beheld the subject of his cogitations.
‘Allow me to congratulate you, Mr Montmorency, on your Charles Surface this evening. A double call before the curtain, and well deserved.’
‘You are pleased to flatter me. The plaudits of the house to-night render any praise on my part of your Lady Teazle unnecessary. I regret that I am fated to lose so charming a compatriot.’
Was it fancy that Montmorency imagined he detected a paler tint on the cheek of the actress, as she replied: ‘You are not going to leave us?’
‘I fear so.’
‘Wherefore?’
‘You are the last person to whom I can confide the cause of my sudden departure.’
Lady Teazle cast down her lovely eyes for a brief space, and then, in a voice in which the smallest possible tremolo was perceptible, whispered: ‘Are you not happy here?’
‘I fear, too much so,’ sighed Montmorency. ‘I have been living in a fool’s paradise lately.’
‘How? In what way, Mr Montmorency?’