He stared at her blankly, incredulously, as she sat in the ancient chair, with its great carved crown showing above the masses of sunny hair, her delicate hands resting on its massive arms, her graceful slimness thrown out into relief by its broad leather back.
She looked dazzling in her mother’s pearls and a silver spangled gown. Almost like some stately young sovereign, enthroned among her subjects.
And yet it was the same little face that had haunted him all these years--the same that had been pressed against the window-pane one April night, in passionate farewell.
“May I have the pleasure of a dance?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Thank you, I don’t dance,” she answered inarticulately, as she pressed on the knobs of the arm-chair with trembling hands.
“What a queer, nervous sort of girl!” thought Mrs. Hampton, as she moved away.
To Major Doran it seemed almost incredible. But these delicate patrician features, and the rich, soft brogue, both belonged to Mary Foley. She was curiously reserved, and cold. Had her sudden uprise turned her head? Did Lady Joseline Mulgrave hate to recall the old days, when she was the inferior, and dropped curtseys to _him_?
“Lady Joseline,” he said, on a sudden impulse, “may I ask you a question?”
“You may if you like,” she answered, almost under her breath.
“Do we meet now for the first time? or--have we known one another all our lives. It is for you to say?”
“Me to say,” she repeated, raising her eyes to where he stood, humbly awaiting her decision. “Why, to say the truth, and what else?--wasn’t I your mother’s egg-huxter?”
“Well, perhaps we need not recall _that_--only--other things?”--and he studied her pale, uplifted face, and her brilliant eyes, with a keen and intimate interest. “Do you know that I’ve always had a presentiment, that we should come across one another some day. Of course I have heard your story.”
“Yes,” she answered, with regal equanimity, “I believe it was on the papers.”
“I was not as much surprised as other people. You were always different to your surroundings.”
“I suppose I was,” she acquiesced. “I never had much heart for work.”
“But you had for play. You seem to have left your spirits in Ireland?”
As he spoke he took a seat and continued.
