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Updated: May 12, 2025
And your eyes your eyes are the eyes of the Sphinx. I fancy, if I could make you care, I would forget all the world. I am glad you are going to-morrow." "I understood you to say you were greatly attracted by Miss Trumpet," I said, demurely. And so the evening passed. "I think it is going all right," Lady Tilchester said to me as we walked up-stairs together.
She was very agreeable to me, and gave me to understand she was so interested to make my acquaintance, as Lady Tilchester had told her so much about me. "You come from Yorkshire, don't you?" she said; "and your husband has that wonderful breed of black pigs, hasn't he?" "No," I said, "we live only sixteen miles off." "Oh, of course! How stupid of me!
There were several nice-looking people standing around when at last we arrived on the dais. Mrs. Gurrage greeted most of them gushingly and introduced me. "My future daughter-in-law, Miss Athelstan." It may have been fancy, but I thought I caught flashes of surprise in their eyes. One lady Lady Tilchester the great magnate in the neighborhood, spoke to me.
The beautiful young man, Lord Luffton, now engaged her in conversation, and as Lady Tilchester and I left the hall both he and the Duke were escorting Miss Trumpet to the dais no doubt to turn up the carpet and search for the traditional blood upon the steps. "They are the most wonderful nation," Lady Tilchester said, as she linked her arm in mine.
I do not know London very well; but Lady Tilchester had given me the address of the latest and most fashionable dressmaker, and I got into a hansom and drove there. The garments were pretty, and I ordered several tea-gowns and things they had ready, and, as I was leaving, gave Augustus's name and address for the account to be sent to. He should receive the bill, as he wished.
"Just what you deserve," chuckled Lord Tilchester. "What tiresome nonsense these people talk," said Sir Antony, calmly, to me. "You and I were in the middle of an interesting problem discussion, were we not? And now I have lost the thread." "It does not in the least matter," I said.
On Tuesday morning I got a telegram from Lady Tilchester, sent from Paris. I had written to her some days before. She had run over to Ritz for a week, she said, to recover from her fatigues of the Saturday, and would I come into town, and lunch with her that day at half-past twelve? With delight I started in my automobile. I had not seen her for months.
We stared at one another, and they went on talking again, all about the war. Augustus joined in. He is dreadfully uneasy in case the rest of the Tilchester Yeomanry may volunteer at last to go out, and was anxious to hear their views of the possibility. I sat down upon a fat-pillowed sofa, one of those nice kind that puff out again slowly when you get up, and make you feel at rest any way you sit.
Although I could see them with the corner of my eye, and grandmamma could too, I should not have dared to have stopped my reading, and was actually in the middle of a sentence when Hephzibah announced them. I did not forget to make my révérence this time, and grandmamma half rose from her chair. Lady Tilchester has the most lovely manners.
"Who is that?" "Oh, that is the Tilchester child, Muriel Harley," he said, carelessly. "We snap-shotted her paddling in the burn in Scotland a year or two ago. Come, it is dressing-time. I must send you up-stairs." And then, as we left the room, "You look so comfortable in that tea-gown! Don't bother to change," he said.
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