Raie hailed her departure with relief.
“I think I must be bad-tempered, auntie,” she remarked, as soon as the hall door was closed. “At any rate, Zillah Lorm always rubs me up the wrong way.”
“Why? I have never heard her say anything to offend you, dear.”
“No, it isn’t what she says; it’s the way she looks at me. She always makes me say all the sharp horrid things I can think of. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself afterwards, but I wouldn’t apologise for the world. And I know she’s trying to set her cap at Lionel, and she knows I know it; and—and—I would much rather Lal married Lady Patricia than Zillah Lorm.”
She spoke in the short, nervous way which was characteristic of herself. Lady Montella glanced at her musingly.
“I am afraid your imagination is running away with you, Raie,” she returned, in a quiet voice. “First it is Lady Patricia Byrne, then Zillah Lorm. To how many more ladies are you going to engage my son?”
“To me, if you like!” The girl laughed merrily. “Don’t you think I would make a good wife, auntie? But no, I am destined to be an old maid! I took the last piece of bread-and-butter at tea; and that, you know, is a sure sign.”
She kissed her foster-aunt good-night, and danced along the corridor to her bedroom. Lady Montella glanced at the clock, and noticed that it was nearly eleven. She gave a sigh, and wondered what her son was doing. She thought that on this night—after he had been fasting all day—he might have stayed at home.
CHAPTER III
PATRICIA
Meanwhile, Lionel Montella, having left his card at Downing Street, re-entered his hansom, and was driven to Grosvenor Square. The casket which contained his jewel consisted of a house situated in the quietest corner; and here the vehicle slackened speed. Having pulled the great bell, Montella was admitted by a powdered footman, and shown into one of the smaller rooms at the back of the hall. Allowing himself to be divested of his overcoat, he asked to see the Earl.