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She has asked me, and Mr. Briggs" here Britta laughed "is coming to see if I can go. He will escort me, he says!" And she laughed again. Thelma forced herself to smile. "You can go, by all means, Britta! But I thought you did not like Lady Winsleigh's French maid?" "I don't like her much," Britta admitted "still, she means to be kind and agreeable, I think.
She paused suddenly and drew a letter from her pocket, laughed and tossed it across the table. "You can read that, if you like," she said indifferently. "He wrote it, and sent it round to me last night." Lady Winsleigh's eyes glistened eagerly, she recognized Errington's bold, clear hand at once, and as she read, an expression of triumph played on her features. She looked up presently and said
I do think with you that he deserves every one's good wishes. It is my great desire to make him always happy." A brief shadow crosses Lord Winsleigh's thoughtful brow, and he studies her sweet eyes attentively. Is she sincere? Does she mean what she says? Or is she, like others of her sex, merely playing a graceful part?
The blinds were white and, what could be seen of the curtains from the outside, suggested the richness of falling velvets, and gold-woven tapestries. The drawing-room balconies were full of brilliant flowers, shaded by quaint awnings of Oriental pattern, thus giving the place an air of pleasant occupation and tasteful elegance. Lady Winsleigh's carriage drew up at the door, and Briggs descended.
A sort of wistful pathos softened the grave lines of Lord Winsleigh's countenance as he bent once more over the little bed, and pressed his bearded lips lightly on the boy's fresh cheek, as cool and soft as a rose-leaf. "God bless you, little man!" he answered softly, and there was a slight quiver in his calm voice.
She's been made to believe a scandalous and abominable lie against me and she's gone! I I by Jove! I hardly like to say it to your face but " "I understand!" a curious flicker of a smile shadowed rather than brightened Lord Winsleigh's stern features. "Pray speak quite plainly! Lady Winsleigh is to blame? I am not at all surprised!" Errington gave him a rapid glance of wonder.
"Where is Britta?" demanded Philip suddenly. "She has gone again to Lady Winsleigh's," answered Morris, "she says it is there that mischief has been done, I don't know what she means!" Philip shook off his secretary's sympathetic touch, and strode through the rooms to Thelma's boudoir.
Her voice broke, and a hard sob choked her utterance. For once Lady Winsleigh's conscience smote her for once she felt ashamed, and dared not offer consolation to the innocent soul she had so wantonly stricken. For a minute or two there was silence broken only by the monotonous ticking of the clock and the crackling of the fire. Presently Thelma spoke again.
Philip had married a creature with the bodily loveliness of a goddess and the innocent soul of a child and it was just that child-like, pure soul looking serenely out of Thelma's eyes that had brought the long-forgotten blush of shame to Clara Winsleigh's cheek.
This is some private retreat of hers, I suppose, a kind of boudoir like my Lady Winsleigh's, only with rather a difference."
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