fectionate good-night to her girlish admirer. “I am not really ill—only a little run down,” she assured her. “I do hope I shan’t have to keep my room to-morrow.”
The brilliant vision of Parisian elegance having vanished into the room, Sybil made her way downstairs, and in the hall encountered General Sadgrove, who wore a light overcoat over his evening things and a gray felt hat. He was engaged in wiping the wet from his patent-leather shoes with his handkerchief, but looked up on Sybil’s approach, and, removing his hat, went on with his occupation.
“Still raining?” said Sybil, carelessly.
“Like the very—I mean, like it used to in the monsoon,” the General checked himself.
No more passed, except a slight raising of the old soldier’s eyebrows and a corresponding droop of one of the lady’s eyelids. The General having restored the gloss to his footgear and doffed his overcoat, they went on with linked arms to the tapestry-room, where, however, the party shortly broke up, the ladies to retire for the night, and the men to go to the smoking-room. The Duke remained but a short time, leaving the General and Forsyth with the playful remark that he was growing
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