"They are fine lines," she said.
"They fit my friend Lord Highcliffe's case to a T. He was for a time
the spoiled darling of fortune; she caressed him as she caresses few
men--and now she is breaking him on her wheel; and the caresses, of
course, make the breaking all the harder to bear. He writes most
interesting letters--I don't know whether you care about farming and
cattle-raising and that kind of thing; for my own part I am sublimely
ignorant of such matters. I can lay my hand upon my heart and say I
know a cow from a horse, but nothing shall induce me to go further. If
you are interested, I would venture to offer to show you one of his
letters; there is nothing in them of a private character."
Her heart beat still more quickly; he saw the eager light flash in her
eyes; and his hand went to his breast coat-pocket; then he said,
blandly: "I will bring one next time we meet. Are you going--where are you going
to-morrow, Miss Heron? I, too, shall be going there probably?"
She put her hand to her lips with a little nervous gesture: she was
disappointed, she thought he was going to show her a letter, then and
there.
"I am going to Lady Fitzharford's to-morrow afternoon to try over some
music with her," she said, hesitatingly.
"Ah, yes; Lady Fitzharford is a good friend of mine," he said. "Shall
you be there at, say, four?"
"Yes," said Ida in a low voice. "Did you say that Mr. Orme--Lord
Highcliffe is well?"
"Oh, yes; he is all right now," replied Howard; "he has been ill--a
fever of some kind or other, I believe--but he has recovered; he is a
monster of strength, as you may have heard. But I am afraid he is very
unhappy: something on what he calls his mind--he is not very
intellectual, you know--"
Ida shot an indignant glance at him which made Howard chuckle inwardly.
--"But the best, the noblest of good fellows, I assure you, Miss Heron.
I'd give anything to see him happy. Ah, here comes a gentleman with
hurried gait and distracted countenance; he is looking for his partner;
alas! it is you! We meet, then, at Lady Fitzharford's to-morrow. I will
bring my friend's letter; but I do sincerely hope it won't bore you!"
He bowed his adieux and left her, and left the house; for the ball had
no further interest for him. All the way home he pondered over the
case. That she loved Stafford, he had not the very least doubt; her
eyes, her sudden blushes and colour, her voice had betrayed her.