“Who is that lady?”
“Lady Emily Fitznorman, a cousin of mine.”
“How beautiful she is! I never saw any one so handsome!”
“Did you not?” with an incredulous smile, then looking quickly away. “She is a very striking person; she is the belle of our county. You look warm; shall we take a turn in the galleries?”
Franceline assented. Passing through the conservatory, they came upon two persons seated in a recess, partly screened by a large fan-leaved plant. It was Clide and Lady Emily; she was talking with great animation, gesticulating with her fan, while he sat in an attitude of deep attention, his elbows resting on his knees, and his head bent forward. Franceline felt a sudden shock at her left side, as if her heart had stopped, while a spasm of pain shot through her, making every fibre tingle. What was this olive-skinned beauty saying to Clide that he was listening to with such rapt attention? He did not even look up, though he must have seen who was passing. Poor Franceline! what tremor is this that shakes her from head to foot, convulsing her whole being with one fierce throb of angry emotion! Poor human heart! the demon of jealousy had but to blow one breath upon it, and she whose life had hitherto been a sort of inverse metempsychosis of a lily and a dove, was transformed into a woman fired with passionate vindictiveness, longing to snatch at another human heart and crush it. But the woman’s pride, that woke up with the pain, came instinctively to her assistance. She began talking rapidly to Lord Roxham, sinking her voice to the sotto voce of confidence and intimacy, so that he had to lower his head slightly to catch what she was saying; thus they swept by the two in the recess, without glancing towards them.
Clide meantime had seen it all. He had been straining every nerve to catch what Franceline was saying, and was voting his friend Roxham a confounded puppy, whose conceited head he would have much pleasure in punching on the first opportunity. He could not punch Sir Simon’s, though he deserved it more than Roxham.
“May I ask you for an explanation of your behavior to me just now, Sir Simon?” he had said to his host as soon as Miss Bulpit had set him free; “what did you mean by interfering with me in that manner?”
“Did I interfere with you?” was the supercilious retort, with a bland smile. “I’m very sorry to hear it; but I think I had a right to the second dance from a young lady whom I consider my adopted daughter.”
“If it had been for yourself I should have yielded without a word; but it was for Roxham you shoved me aside.”
“Well, suppose I choose to elect a deputy to do my duty? I had a right to choose Roxham.”