Moreover, all the London guests who were visiting Thelma came in for a share of the county magnates' servile admiration. They found the Winsleighs "so distingue"--Master Ernest instantly became "that dear boy!"--Beau Lovelace was "so dreadfully clever, you know!"--and Pierre Duprèz "quite too delightful!"
The grounds looked very brilliant--pink-and-white marquees were dotted here and there on the smooth velvet lawns--bright flags waved from different quarters of the gardens, signals of tennis, archery, and dancing,--and the voluptuous waltz-music of a fine Hungarian band rose up and swayed in the air with the downward floating songs of the birds and the dash of fountains in full play. Girls in pretty light summer costumes made picturesque groups under the stately oaks and beeches,--gay laughter echoed from the leafy shrubberies, and stray couples were seen sauntering meditatively through the rose-gardens, treading on the fallen scented petals, and apparently too much absorbed in each other to notice anything that was going on around them. Most of these were lovers, of course--intending lovers, if not declared ones,--in fact, Eros was very busy that day among the roses, and shot forth a great many arrows, aptly aimed, out of his exhaustless quiver.
Two persons there were, however,--man and woman,--who, walking in that same rose-avenue, did not seem, from their manner, to have much to do with the fair Greek god,--they were Lady Winsleigh and Sir Francis Lennox. Her ladyship looked exceedingly beautiful in her clinging dress of Madras lace, with a bunch of scarlet poppies at her breast, and a wreath of the same vivid flowers in her picturesque Leghorn hat. She held a scarlet-lined parasol over her head, and from under the protecting shadow of this silken pavilion, her dark, lustrous eyes flashed disdainfully as she regarded her companion. He was biting an end of his brown moustache, and looked annoyed, yet lazily amused too.
"Upon my life, Clara," he observed, "you are really awfully down on a fellow, you know! One would think you never cared two-pence about me!"
"Too high a figure!" retorted Lady Winsleigh, with a hard little laugh. "I never cared a brass farthing!"
He stopped short in his walk and stared at her.
"By Jove! you are cool!" he ejaculated. "Then what did you mean all the time?"
"What did you mean?" she asked defiantly.
He was silent. After a slight, uncomfortable pause, he shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"Don't let us have a scene!" he observed in a bantering tone. "Anything but that!"