Although I felt positive I had not mistaken the face, yet I admit the identification was so sudden that I found myself doubting whether it was really the woman I had seen in the dimly illuminated grounds.
“Campbell,” I said, beckoning one of the attendants, “there’s a lady upstairs with blue birds in her hat. Don’t notice her for a moment, but look up presently and tell me if you know who she is.”
“Very well, sir,” he replied with a significant smile, arranging his gilt chain of office over his glossy shirt-front, and strolling away along the gallery.
Returning in a few moments, he bent over me and exclaimed, “That lady, sir.”
“Yes,” I said anxiously.
“She’s Mrs. Elworthy, wife of the Member for North-west Huntingdon. She’s well known in society, and comes as regularly when her husband speaks as Mrs. Gladstone does.”
“Mrs. Elworthy!” I ejaculated. “Ah, thanks,” I added.
Remarking that I was welcome to the information, Campbell walked away.
Mrs. Elworthy! My thoughts were only of her. I knew her by reputation as a leader of fashion; the centre of a dashing set. She joked pleasantly with her elder companion, uttering a low, musical laugh. The diamonds on her slim wrist sparkled as the daintily gloved hand grasped the iron-work.