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Nothing, doubtless, but the cleverness and promptitude of Sir Dafyd Penrhyn, the secretive nature of Catherine Dartmouth, the absence of rapid-news transit, and the semi-civilization of Constantinople at that time, had prevented the affair from becoming public scandal.
Love, then, as well as genius, had triumphed over the vengeance of Dafyd Penrhyn and Catherine Dartmouth. In that moment he felt no affection for his grandmother. She had worshipped and spoilt him, and had shown him only her better side; but the weakness and evil of her nature had done him incalculable injury, and he was not prepared to forgive her at once. He returned to his seat.
"I am sorry not to see Dartmouth," said the great minister, affably. "Is he ill again? He must be careful; the fever is dangerous." Mrs. Dartmouth drew her curved brows together with a frown which did not soften her face. "He is writing," she said, shortly. "He is always writing." "O, but you know that is a Dartmouth failing ambition," said Sir Dafyd, with a smile.
At the end of the second course Sir Dafyd raised a glass of wine to his lips, and, as he glanced about the table, conversation ceased for a moment. "Will you drink to my wife's health?" he said. "It has caused me much anxiety of late." Every glass was simultaneously raised, and then Sir Dafyd pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.
In addition were the Secretaries of Legation, with their gaily-gowned young wives, and one or two English residents; all assembled at the bidding of Sir Dafyd-ap-Penrhyn, the famous diplomatist who represented England at the court of the Sultan. Sir Dafyd was standing between the windows and underneath one of the heavy candelabra.
"They must be either in the study or dictating to the King." "Well, I wish my Fate had been a political Dartmouth. Lionel sits in his study all day and writes poetry which I detest. I shall bring up my son to be a statesman." "So that his wife may see more of him?" said Sir Dafyd, laughing.
The shadow had wholly disappeared from Sir Dafyd's mouth, a faint smile hovering there instead. As he took his seat the Austrian Ambassador leaned forward and inquired politely about the state of Lady Sionèd's health. "She is sleeping quietly," said Sir Dafyd. The Hon. Harold Dartmouth was bored. He had been in Paris three months and it was his third winter. He was young.
So, you see, he's not the most enviable of mortals." "Much better she have be careful," said the Spanish woman; "some day he feel tire out and go to lover someone else. Please you geeve me some more clarette?" "Here comes Sir Dafyd," said the Englishman, as he filled her glass. "It has taken him a long time to find out how she is."
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