unmistakably.
The next moment he was standing at Octavia Bassett's side, looking rather pleased, and the blood of Slowbridge was congealing, as the significance of the situation was realized.
One instant of breathless—of awful—suspense, and her ladyship recovered herself.
"We will go in to tea," she said. "May I ask you, Mr. Burmistone, to accompany Miss Pilcher?"
CHAPTER XI. — A SLIGHT INDISCRETION.
During the remainder of the evening, Miss Belinda was a prey to wretchedness and despair. When she raised her eyes to her hostess, she met with a glance full of icy significance; when she looked across the tea-table, she saw Octavia seated next to Mr. Francis Barold, monopolizing his attention, and apparently in the very best possible spirits. It only made matters worse, that Mr. Francis Barold seemed to find her remarks worthy of his attention. He drank very little tea, and now and then appeared much interested and amused. In fact, he found Miss Octavia even more entertaining than he had found her during their journey. She did not hesitate at all to tell him that she was delighted to see him again at this particular juncture.
"You don't know how glad I was to see you come in," she said.
She met his rather startled glance with the most open candor as she spoke.
"It is very civil of you to say so," he said; "but you can hardly expect me to believe it, you know. It is too good to be true."
"I thought it was too good to be true when the door opened," she answered cheerfully. "I should have been glad to see anybody, almost"—
"Well, that," he interposed, "isn't quite so civil."
"It is not quite so civil to"—
But there she checked herself, and asked him a question with the most naive seriousness.
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