With another
sigh she turned away from the river towards the house, vaguely
wondering if, after such a night, she could ever find rest and sleep.
Suddenly, before she reached the terrace, she heard a firm
step upon the crisp gravel, and the next moment her husband's figure
emerged out of the shadow. He too, had skirted the house, and was
wandering along the lawn, towards the river. He still wore his heavy
driving coat with the numerous lapels and collars he himself had set
in fashion, but he had thrown it well back, burying his hands as was
his wont, in the deep pockets of his satin breeches: the gorgeous
white costume he had worn at Lord Grenville's ball, with its jabot of
priceless lace, looked strangely ghostly against the dark background
of the house.
He apparently did not notice her, for, after a few moments
pause, he presently turned back towards the house, and walked straight
up to the terrace.
"Sir Percy!"
He already had one foot on the lowest of the terrace steps,
but at her voice he started, and paused, then looked searchingly into
the shadows whence she had called to him.
She came forward quickly into the moonlight, and, as soon as
he saw her, he said, with that air of consummate gallantry he always
wore when speaking to her,--
"At your service, Madame!"
But his foot was still on the step, and in his whole attitude
there was a remote suggestion, distinctly visible to her, that he
wished to go, and had no desire for a midnight interview.
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