'Mr. and Miss Temple, my lady.'

'Oh, my darling!' said Lady Bellair, 'my real darling! sit by me. I sent Lady Ionia away, because I determined to keep this place for you. I give this party entirely in your honour, so you ought to sit here. You are a good man,' she continued, addressing Mr. Temple; 'but I can't love you so well as your daughter.'

'I should be too fortunate,' said Mr. Temple, smiling.

'I knew you when you ate pap,' said Lady Bellair, laughing.

'Mrs. Montgomery Floyd, my lady.'

Lady Bellair a.s.sumed her coldest and haughtiest glance. Mrs. Montgomery appeared more gorgeous than ever. The splendour of her sweeping train almost required a page to support it; she held a bouquet which might have served for the centre-piece of a dinner-table. A slender youth, rather distinguished in appearance, simply dressed, with a rose-bud just twisted into his black coat, but whose person distilled odours whose essence might have exhausted a conservatory, lounged at her side.

'May I have the honour to present to your ladyship Lord Catchimwhocan?'

breathed forth Mrs. Montgomery, exulting in her companion, perhaps in her conquest.

Lady Bellair gave a short and ungracious nod. Mrs. Montgomery recognised Mr. and Miss Temple. 'There, go, go,' said Lady Bellair, interrupting her, 'n.o.body must stop here; go and see the wonderful man in the next room.'

'Lady Bellair is so strange,' whimpered Mrs. Montgomery, in an apologetical whisper to Miss Temple, and she moved away, covering her retreat by the graceful person of Lord Catchimwhocan.

'Some Irish guardsman, I suppose,' said Lady Bellair. 'I never heard of him; I hate guardsmen.'

'Rather a distinguished-looking man, I think,' said Mr. Temple.

'Do you think so?' said Lady Bellair, who was always influenced by the last word. 'I will ask him for Thursday and Sat.u.r.day. I think I must have known his grandfather. I must tell him not to go about with that horrid woman. She is so very fine, and she uses musk; she puts me in mind of the Queen of Sheba,' said the little lady, laughing, 'all precious stones and frankincense. I quite hate her.'

'I thought she was quite one of your favourites, Lady Bellair?' said Henrietta Temple rather maliciously.

'A Bath favourite, my dear; a Bath favourite. I wear my old bonnets at Bath, and use my new friends; but in town I have old friends and new dresses.'

'Lady Frederick Berrington, my lady.' 'Oh! my dear Lady Frederick, now I will give you a treat. I will introduce you to my sweet, sweet friend, whom I am always talking to you of. You deserve to know her; you will taste her; there, sit down, sit by her, and talk to her, and make love to her.'

'Lady Womandeville, my lady.'

'Ah! she will do for the lord; she loves a lord. My dear lady, you come so late, and yet I am always so glad to see you. I have such a charming friend for you, the handsomest, most fashionable, witty person, quite captivating, and his grandfather was one of my dearest friends. What is his name? what is his name? Lord Catchimwhocan. Mind, I introduce you to him, and ask him to your house very often.'

Lady Womandeville smiled, expressed her delight, and moved on.

Lord Montfort, who had arrived before the Temples, approached the ottoman.

'Is the d.u.c.h.ess here?' enquired Henrietta, as she shook hands with him.

'And Isabella,' he replied. Henrietta rose, and taking his arm, bid adieu to Lady Bellair.

'G.o.d bless you,' said her ladyship, with great emphasis. 'I will not have you speak to that odious Mrs. Floyd, mind.'

When Lord Montfort and Henrietta succeeded in discovering the d.u.c.h.ess, she was in the conservatory, which was gaily illuminated with coloured lamps among the shrubs. Her Grace was conversing with cordiality with a lady of very prepossessing appearance, in whom the traces of a beauty once distinguished were indeed still considerable, and her companion, an extremely pretty person, in the very bloom of girlhood. Lord Montfort and Henrietta were immediately introduced to these ladies, as Lady Armine and Miss Grandison. After the scene of the morning, it was not easy to deprive Miss Temple of her equanimity; after that shock, no incident connected with the Armine family could be surprising; she was even desirous of becoming acquainted with Miss Grandison, and she congratulated herself upon the opportunity which had so speedily offered itself to gratify her wishes. The d.u.c.h.ess was perfectly delighted with Lady Armine, whose manners were fascinating; between the families there was some connection of blood, and Lady Armine, too, had always retained a lively sense of the old duke's services to her son. Henrietta had even to listen to enquiries made after Ferdinand, and she learnt that he was slowly recovering from an almost fatal illness, that he could not endure the fatigues of society, and that he was even living at an hotel for the sake of quiet. Henrietta watched the countenance of Katherine, as Lady Armine gave this information. It was serious, but not disturbed. Her Grace did not separate from her new friends the whole of the evening, and they parted with a mutually expressed wish that they might speedily and often meet. The d.u.c.h.ess p.r.o.nounced Lady Armine the most charming person she had ever met; while, on the other hand, Miss Grandison was warm in her admiration of Henrietta Temple and Lord Montfort, whom she thought quite worthy even of so rare a prize.

CHAPTER VII.

_Containing a Very Important Communication_.

BETWEEN the unexpected meeting with Captain Armine in the morning and the evening a.s.sembly at Bellair House, a communication had been made by Miss Temple to Lord Montfort, which ought not to be quite unnoticed.

She had returned home with his mother and himself, and her silence and depression had not escaped him. Soon after their arrival they were left alone, and then Henrietta said, 'Digby, I wish to speak to you!'

'My own!' said Lord Montfort, as he seated himself by her on the sofa, and took her hand.

Miss Temple was calm; but he would have been a light observer who had not detected her suppressed agitation.

'Dearest Digby,' she continued, 'you are so generous and so kind, that I ought to feel no reluctance in speaking to you upon this subject; and yet it pains me very much.' She hesitated.

'I can only express my sympathy with any sorrow of yours, Henrietta,'

said Lord Montfort. 'Speak to me as you always do, with that frankness which so much delights me.'

'Let your thoughts recur to the most painful incident of my life, then,'

said Henrietta.

'If you require it,' said Lord Montfort, in a serious tone.

'It is not my fault, dearest Digby, that a single circ.u.mstance connected with that unhappy event should be unknown to you. I wished originally that you should know all. I have a thousand times since regretted that your consideration for my feelings should ever have occasioned an imperfect confidence between us; and something has occurred to-day which makes me lament it bitterly.'

'No, no, dearest Henrietta; you feel too keenly,' said Lord Montfort.

'Indeed, Digby, it is so,' said Henrietta very mournfully.

'Speak, then, dearest Henrietta.'

'It is necessary that you should know the name of that person who once exercised an influence over my feelings, which I never affected to disguise to you.'

'Is it indeed necessary?' enquired Lord Montfort.

'It is for my happiness,' replied Henrietta.

'Then, indeed, I am anxious to learn it.'

'He is in this country,' said Henrietta, 'he is in this town; he may be in the same room with you to-morrow; he has been in the same room with me even this day.'

'Indeed!' said Lord Montfort.

'He bears a name not unknown to you,' said Henrietta, 'a name, too, that I must teach myself to mention, and yet------'

Lord Montfort rose and took a pencil and a sheet of paper from the table, 'Write it,' he said in a kind tone.

Henrietta took the pencil, and wrote,

'Armine.'