I am only now beginning to _live_. The past few years
have been--you know what, Carr."
He sent the barrister into the drawing room, went upstairs for Anne, and
brought her in on his arm. The dowager was in her chamber, attiring
herself in haste.
"My wife, Carr," said Hartledon, with a loving emphasis on the word.
She was in an evening dress of white and black, not having yet put off
mourning for Mrs. Ashton, and looked very lovely; far more lovely in
Thomas Carr's eyes than Lady Maude, with her dark beauty, had ever
looked. She held out her hand to him with a frank smile.
"I have heard so much of you, Mr. Carr, that we seem like old friends.
I am glad you have come to see me so soon."
"My being here this evening is an accident, Lady Hartledon, as you may
see by my dress," he returned. "I ought rather to apologize for intruding
on you in the hour of your arrival."
"Don't talk about intrusion," said Val. "You will never be an intruder in
my house--and Anne's smile is telling you the same--"
"Who's that, pray?"
The interruption came from the countess-dowager. There she stood, near
the door, in a yellow gown and green turban. Val drew himself up and
approached her, his wife still on his arm. "Madam," said he, in reply to
her question, "this is my wife, Lady Hartledon."
The dowager's gauzes made acquaintance with the carpet in so elaborate
a curtsey as to savour of mockery, but her eyes were turned up to the
ceiling; not a word or look gave she to the young lady.
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