“You see, Wilton,” said Lord Sherbrooke in a low voice, “how angry she is to behold you here.  It was for that I brought you.  I want to tease her in all possible ways,” and without waiting for any reply, he hurried his pace, and advanced towards the lady.

She received him with marked coldness and distance of manner; but now the difference in her demeanour towards him and towards Wilton was strongly marked—­not that the smile with which she greeted the latter when he came up was anything but very faint, yet her lip did relax into a smile.

The colour, too, came up a little into her cheek; and her manner was a little agitated.  In short—­though without openly expressing any very great pleasure at seeing him—­it was evident that she was not displeased; and the secret of the slight degree of embarrassment which she displayed was, that for the first moment or so after she saw him, she thought of her mistake of the night before, and of her feelings while she had imagined that the Duke had pointed him out to her as one who, if she thought fit, might be her future husband.

The lady soon conquered the momentary agitation, however; and the conversation went on, principally maintained, of course, between herself and Lord Sherbrooke.  Wilton would have given worlds indeed to have escaped, but there was no possibility of so doing, Lady Laura signified no intention of returning to the house; and they continued walking up and down the broad gravelled terrace, which of all things on earth affords the least opportunity for lingering behind, or escaping the embarrassment of being the one too many.

Wilton had too much good taste to suffer his annoyance to appear; and though he strove to avoid taking any greater part in the conversation than he could help, still when he joined in, what he did say was said with ease and grace.  Lord Sherbrooke forced him, indeed, to speak more than he was inclined, and, to Lady Laura, there seemed a strange contrast between the thoughts and language of the two.  The young nobleman’s conversation was light, witty, poignant, and irregular.  It was like the flowing of a shallow stream amongst bright pebbles which it causes to sparkle, and from which it receives in return a thousand various shades and tints, but without depth or vigour; while that of Wilton was stronger, more profound, more vigorous both in thought and expression, and was like a deeper river flowing on without so much sunshine and light, but clear, deep, and powerful, and not unmusical either, between its banks.

It was towards the latter that Lady Laura turned and listened, though she could not but smile at many of the gay sallies of him who walked on the other side:  but it seemed as if the conversation of Lord Sherbrooke rested in the ear, while that of Wilton sunk into the heart.