Two days ago the DAY
DREAM had returned from Calais, bringing her news that her idolised
brother had safely landed, that he thought of her, and would be
prudent for her sake.
What wonder for the moment, and listening to Gluck's
impassioned strains, that she forgot her disillusionments, forgot her
vanished love-dreams, forgot even the lazy, good-humoured nonentity
who had made up for his lack of spiritual attainments by lavishing
worldly advantages upon her.
He had stayed beside her in the box just as long as convention
demanded, making way for His Royal Highness, and for the host of
admirers who in a continued procession came to pay homage to the queen
of fashion. Sir Percy had strolled away, to talk to more congenial
friends probably. Marguerite did not even wonder whither he had
gone--she cared so little; she had had a little court round her,
composed of the JEUNESSE DOREE of London, and had just dismissed
them all, wishing to be alone with Gluck for a brief while.
A discreet knock at the door roused her from her enjoyment.
"Come in," she said with some impatience, without turning to
look at the intruder.
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