"There is mischief of some kind in that man's heart," Lionel said to
himself. "Can there be any truth in the gipsy's warning after all?"
But in the next moment he was ready to fancy himself the weak dupe of
his own imagination.
"I dare say my cousin's manner is but what it always is," he thought;
"the weary manner of a man who has wasted his youth, and sacrificed all
the brilliant chances of his life, and who, even in the hour of
pleasure and excitement, is oppressed by a melancholy which he strives
in vain to shake off."
The gathering at the breakfast-table was a brilliant one.
Lydia Graham was a superb horsewoman; and in no costume did she look
more attractive than in her exquisitely fitting habit of dark blue
cloth. The early hour of the meet justified her breakfasting in riding-
costume; and gladly availing herself of this excuse, she made her
appearance in her habit, carrying her pretty little riding-hat and
dainty whip in her hand.
Her cheeks were flushed with a rich bloom--the warm flush of excitement
and the consciousness of success. Lionel's attention on the previous
evening had seemed to her unmistakeable; and again this morning she saw
admiration, if not a warmer feeling, in his gaze.
"And so you really mean to follow the hounds, Miss Graham?" said Mrs.
Mordaunt, with something like a shudder.
She had a great horror of fast young ladies, and a lurking aversion to
Miss Graham, whose dashing manner and more brilliant charms quite
eclipsed the quiet graces of the lady's two daughters.
Pages:
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457