"Any thing to please you," she replied; and she decorated herself with more than usual care. Just as her toilette was about to be completed, Lord Glenmore entered her room with a quantity of lilies of the valley. "Here," he said, "I have brought you your favourite flowers; wear them, love, and let their fragrance remind you of the donor." All this lover-like attention enchanted the person to whom it was addressed, and her eyes sparkled with unwonted brilliancy, and her cheeks were tinged with the glow of pleasure as she fastened her _bouquet_ in her breast. Lord Glenmore, proud of such a wife, as well he might be, handed her into her carriage, and she drove to Lady Tilney's, where the party were to assemble to go to Whitehall stairs.
When she entered the room she found nobody yet arrived; a servant made Lady Tilney's apology, saying she should be dressed shortly. Having played a few airs on the piano-forte, she took up a novel, and was busily employed in its pages when Mr. Leslie Winyard was announced. Lady Glenmore felt embarrassed in his presence, she knew not why, but there was something of fear and flutter that came over her whenever he approached, which she could not command. She arose and curtseyed; and then, as though she had payed him too marked a distinction, she remained awkwardly standing, as though she had taken that position by accident--not in honour of him.
All this was not unobserved by Mr. Winyard. He was too well practised in the ways of women's hearts not to read her's at a glance. At least he occasioned emotion, no matter what emotion. He was not to be seen with indifference--that was enough for him; and he despaired not of turning it to his own advantage. This advantage, however, was not, in the present instance, to be obtained by a _coup de main_; and assuming an air of polite, but frigid _nonchalance_, he accosted Lady Glenmore with an expression of surprise at finding her the first-arrived person; and then examined one of the miniatures which hung in a glass cabinet. Lady Glenmore soon recovered her composure, and entered into conversation by asking some of those questions which are merely the opening of conversation. "Yes, I like music," said Mr. Winyard, in answer to one of her questions; "it is one of the very few things which is worth giving one's-self any trouble about. I once learned to sing; the only thing I ever learned." Lady Glenmore laughed; and as her own ingenuous manner returned, she evinced that propensity to being amused by the present moment, which is so natural and so pleasing in youth.