Page:The Yellow Book - 06.djvu/254

 The voice of a butler cried from the doorway; there was a sudden stir in the room, and then a little hush.

"We are separated, alas!" said Lord Hambleton.

"Not at all," said Mrs. Charters, suddenly, at his elbow. "I believe you are neighbours."

Mrs. Rosewarne s heart bounded in her side, and then beat placidly with its accustomed rhythm. Lord Hambleton looked at her. "That s very nice," he murmured.

At the table he turned to her with an immediate air of interest. "Why?" he repeated.

Her gaze had wandered across the table with a profession of gentle indifference. She was surveying the guests with a remote abstraction; plucked out of which she glanced at him with a pretty hint of embarrassment, her forehead frowning as though to recover the topic of their conversation.

"Why?" she echoed; and then: "Oh yes," said she, smiling as out of a memory regained. "Because—well, because, what does it all avail?"

"Nothing, I grant you," he replied easily, "or very little, save to ourselves. You forget us. We have our business. Our fathers gamed and we talk. Don t forget us."

He spoke in railing tones, almost jocosely, and she lifted her eyebrows a line.

"Ah yes!" she assented. "Yes, but me and the rest of us, are we to keep you in your fun?"

He paused before replying, and noted every particular distinction in her handsome face. They were at close quarters; he leaned a trifle nearer, and lowered his voice to a mocking confidence:

"Mrs. Rosewarne, you would never blow upon us, surely." He feigned to hang in suspense upon her answer; the proximity touched