He was intensely gratified and glad that the girl was so young and lovely, and that her husband was so old and so common-place: thus he resolved, in his own phraseology, 'to enter stakes for the filly--to make his innings if he could, or the devil was in it!'
There was an air of lassitude, of settled melancholy, and at times of abstraction, apparent about Eveline, which she could not always successfully conceal, that did not fail to impress and surprise the baronet of Hurdell Hall and his sister, and the latter observed her narrowly when they were together in the drawing-room.
'I have heard that you sing beautifully, Lady Puddicombe,' said she, opening the piano.
'I used to sing--a little,' replied Eveline.
'Used to sing! Why drop so charming an accomplishment?'
'I have had thoughts of late that make me sad.'
'We must cure you of all that. What style of music do you love most?'
'Then sing me some favourite thing before the gentlemen join us--there is a dear, do.'
Thus urged, and fearing to appear ungracious, Eveline seated herself before the instrument--a grand and very stately one it was, and began to sing in a voice that became tender, passionate, and beautiful, touching; even the somewhat arid heart of her listener--by two of the verses especially:--
'Perchance, if we had never met, I had been spared this mad regret, This endless striving to forget, For ever and for ever!
Ah me, I cannot bear the pain, Of never seeing thee again, I cling to thee with might and main, For ever and for ever!'
She felt as if she were singing to Evan, who, perhaps, in spirit was hovering near her; for Eveline was beginning at times to have strange fancies now. There were tears in her voice as she sang, and there were tears in her eyes too; but she paused abruptly as the gentlemen came in from the dining-room, and the eyes of Sir Paget were fixed inquiringly and reprovingly upon her. Her voice seemed to pass away, nor could any entreaties of Sir Harry and his sister make her conclude the song--a well-known one.
'Hah--thereby hangs a tale!' thought the fair Lucretia, as Sir Harry conducted Eveline back to her chair, and took a seat by her side.
No idle or constitutionally dissipated man can withstand the temptation of attempting to fascinate a pretty woman, and, if possible, of eclipsing another man, and to eclipse one like old Sir Paget would seem no very difficult task; so, while talking quietly with Eveline on the last play, the last news, or any current subject, Sir Harry was thinking to himself, while admiring the contour of her head, her rich brown hair, long eyelashes, and lovely little hands,