"Come," added Lady Sara, laying her soft hand on his arm, and
regarding him with a look of tenderness, so unequivocal that he cast
his eyes to the ground, while its sympathy really touched his heart.
"Come," repeated she, animated by the faint color which tinged his
cheek; "you know that I have the care of this party, and I must not
allow our only _cavalier_ to be melancholy."
"I beg your pardon, Lady Sara," returned he, gratefully pressing the
hand that yet rested on his arm; "I am not very well. I wish that I
had not seen this play."
Lady Sara sunk into the seat from which she had risen. He had never
before taken her hand, except when assisting her to her carriage;
this pressure shook her very soul, and awakened hopes which rendered
her for a moment incapable of sustaining herself or venturing a
reply.
There was something in the tones of Lady Sara's voice and in her
manner far more expressive than her words: mutual sighs which
breathed from her ladyship's bosom and that of Thaddeus, as they sat
down, made a cold shiver run from the head to the foot of Miss
Beaufort. Mary's surprise at the meaning of this emotion caused a
second tremor, and with a palpitating heart she asked herself a few
questions.
Could this interesting young man, whom every person of sense appeared
to esteem and respect, sully his virtues by participating in a
passion with a married woman? No; it was impossible.
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