his companion found the delay more agreeable, though, perhaps, to the full as dangerous as delays proverbially are.
"Do not," exclaimed a voice, whose deep melody was remarkable, "ask me about Versailles, every thing was tiresome there, even the love-making; but I remember nothing about it. I can think only of that divine face."
What instinct told Lady Marchmont that the speaker meant her own? Some reply was made, and the voice continued:
"My whole existence is passed into my eyes; and here I am wasting my time in talking to you, when I might be looking at her."
The laurel branches were put aside, and the handsome stranger stepped from the shade. His eyes met those of Lady Marchmont, who felt herself colour, and then, angry at having done so, began talking hastily to the first person near. She talked without waiting for an answer, startling the elderly gentleman she addressed by the suddenness of her questions; and then half affronting him by not listening to
