She
turned to her husband with a smile--
"I am not in the least tired, my dear Oswald," she said; "and if our
friends really wish for another song, I am quite ready to sing one.
That is to say, if Mr. Carrington is not tired of accompanying me."
Victor Carrington declared that nothing gave him greater pleasure than
to play Lady Eversleigh's accompaniments.
"Mr. Carrington is very good," answered the baronet, coldly, "but I do
not wish you to tire yourself by singing all the evening; and I beg
that you will not sing again to-night, Honoria."
Never before had the baronet addressed his wife with such cold decision
of manner. There was something almost severe in his tone, and Honoria
looked at him with wondering eyes.
"I have no greater pleasure than in obeying you," she said, gently, as
she withdrew from the piano.
She seated herself by one of the tables, and opened a portfolio of
sketches. Her head drooped over the book, and she seemed absorbed in
the contemplation of the drawings. Glancing at her furtively, Sir
Oswald could see that she was wounded; and yet he--the adoring husband,
the devoted lover--did not approach her. His mind was disturbed--his
thoughts confused. He passed through one of the open windows, and went
out upon the terrace. There all was calm and tranquil; but the tranquil
loveliness of the scene had no soothing influence on Sir Oswald.
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