She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend. Meanwhile, the excitement of the chase had in some degree subsided. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. “Yes?” he said. “I am too much in earnest,” he answered, “to be able to take this matter lightly. I’ll have it out with him. On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs.
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