There is Lady Arlingford’s reception to-night, ten till twelve, and the Hatton House ball, marked with a cross, sir, important. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak. Maggot, whose nerves were more firmly strung, she contented herself with waving her hand affectionately to her lover, and encouraging him by her gestures. “You!” she exclaimed. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent.
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