"SIR PHILIP AND LADY BRUCE-ERRINGTON!" announces Briggs at this juncture.
There is a sudden hush--a movement of excitement,--and the groups near the door fall apart staring, and struck momentarily dumb with surprise, as a tall, radiant figure in dazzling white, with diamonds flashing on a glittering coil of gold hair, and wondrous sea-blue earnest eyes, passes through their midst with that royal free step and composed grace of bearing that might distinguish an Empress of many nations.
"Good heavens! What a magnificent woman!" mutters Beau Lovelace--"Venus realized!"
Lady Winsleigh turns very pale,--she trembles and can scarcely regain her usual composure as Sir Philip, with a proud tenderness lighting up the depths of his hazel eyes, leads this vision of youth and perfect loveliness up to her, saying simply-"Lady Winsleigh, allow me to introduce to you--my wife! Thelma, this is Lady Winsleigh."
There is a strange sensation in Lady Winsleigh's throat as though a very tight string were suddenly drawn round it to almost strangling point--and it is certain that she feels as though she must scream, hit somebody with her fan, and rush from the room in an undignified rage. But she chokes back these purely feminine emotions--she smiles and extends her jewelled hand.
"So good of you to come to-night!" she says sweetly. "I have been longing to see you, Lady Errington! I dare say you know your husband is quite an old acquaintance of mine!"
And a langourous glance, like fire seen through smoke, leaps from beneath her silky eyelashes at Sir Philip--but he sees it not--he is chatting and laughing gaily with Lorimer and Beau Lovelace.
"Indeed, yes!" answers Thelma, in that soft low voice of hers, which had such a thrilling richness within it--"and it is for that reason I am very glad to meet you. It is always pleasant for me to know my husband's friends."
Here she raises those marvellous, innocent eyes of hers and smiles;--why does Lady Winsleigh shrink from that frank and childlike openness of regard? Why does she, for one brief moment, hate herself?--why does she so suddenly feel herself to be vile and beneath contempt? God only knows!--but the first genuine blush that has tinged her ladyship's cheek for many a long day, suddenly spreads a hot and embarrassing tide of crimson over the polished pallor of her satiny skin, and she says hurriedly-"I must find you some people to talk to. This is my dear friend, Mrs. Rush-Marvelle--I am sure you will like each other. Let me introduce Mrs. Van Clupp to you--Mrs. Van Clupp, and Miss Van Clupp!"