"Lady Lisle has often spoken of you," he said; "but this is, strange to
say, the first time I have ever had the pleasure of seeing you. I met
your mother, Lady Carruthers, a year ago, and have a most pleasant
recollection of her."
Lord Lisle sat down, and Lady Amelie gave a pretty little sigh,
expressive of her resignation to something unpleasant.
And truly a conversation with Lord Lisle was about as unpleasant a
matter as one could well experience. His language was coarse; his ideas
coarser still. There was very little to redeem it. He mistook slang for
wit, told stories that made his wife shudder, and misbehaved himself as
only such a man can do.
Basil looked at him in dismay. Could it be possible that this man was
the husband of that queen of beauty? What a life for her! No wonder she
looked sad as she sat listening to him! The young man's heart ached for
her.
"Are you engaged this evening?" asked Lord Lisle; "if not, dine with us.
I expect Sir Harry Vere, and he is the most amusing character I know."
He would have refused, but that he met the imploring glance of Lady
Amelie's eyes.
"I will come with pleasure," he replied; and her eyes thanked him.
Then Lord Lisle, thinking he had been most amiable and charming, rose
from his chair and quitted the room. In some vague, indistinct way the
atmosphere seemed clearer after he had gone.
Lady Amelie made no comment; a woman less gifted than herself might have
done so; she merely raised her hands and eyes and gave one deep sigh.
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