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Her ladyship concealed a cynical smile under cover of her fan. Mr. Caryll standing in the background beside Hortensia's chair smiled, too, and poor Hortensia, detecting his smile, sought to take comfort in it. "My son," interposed the countess, "is, I am sure, gratified to hear you so commend his conduct." Mr. Templeton bowed to her with a great politeness.
Caryll to the little white and gold withdrawing-room that was Hortensia's. There, in the little time that he waited, he revolved the situation as it now stood, and the temptation that had been with him for the past three days rose up now with a greater vigor. Should Lord Ostermore die, Temptation argued, he need no longer hesitate.
Her ladyship dispensed with ambassadors, and went in person to convey her orders to her husband's ward, and to enforce them. "What's this I am told?" quoth she, as she sailed into Hortensia's room. "Do my wishes count for nothing, that you send me pert answers by my woman?" Hortensia rose. She had been sitting by the window, a book in her lap. "Not so, indeed, madam. Not pert, I trust.
Suddenly, as if drawn by his ardent gaze, Hortensia's eyes moved at last from their forward fixity. Her glance met Mr. Caryll's across the intervening space. Instantly he swept off his hat, and bowed profoundly. The action drew attention to himself. All eyes were focussed upon him, and between many a pair there was a frown for one who should dare thus to run counter to the general attitude.
How should he stand as judge between Mistress Winthrop towards whom, as we have seen, he had a kindness and his wife, whom he hated, yet towards whom he would not be disloyal? He wished the subject dropped, since, did he ask the obvious question in what my Lady Ostermore could have been the cause of Hortensia's flight he would provoke, he knew, a storm of censure from his wife.
Lord Rotherby was but one of the many of his type who furnished a court, a valetaille, to the gay, dissolute, handsome, witty duke, who might have been great had he not preferred his vices to his worthier parts. As they went by, Lord Rotherby bared his head and bowed, as did his companion. Her ladyship smiled upon him, but Hortensia's eyes looked rigidly ahead, her face a stone.
Caryll moved towards them, and Lady Mary turned aside to speak to the countess. At Mr. Caryll's approach Hortensia's eyes had been lowered again, and she made no offer to address him as he stood before her now, hat under arm, leaning easily upon his amber cane. "Oh, heart of stone!" said he at last. "Am I not yet forgiven?"
Caryll knew of his father, than the supposition that so dull and practical and self-centered a nature could have been irradiated by a gleam of such tenderness as the hoarding of those letters might have argued. He continued to turn them over, half-mechanically, forgetful of the urgent need to burn the treasonable documents he had secured, forgetful of everything, even Hortensia's presence.
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