"No? Dessay not. She doesn't go out much, and Lady Clansford thinks
it's rather a feather in her cap getting her here to-night. When you
see her you won't say I've over-praised her. She's more than pretty,
and she'd be the bright and particular star of the season if she didn't
keep in her shell so much."
"Herondale," said Howard, musingly. "That's the place near the Villa,
isn't it? I don't remember anyone of her name as having been amongst
the company there."
"No," said the omniscient Bertie. "She was living in retirement with
her father then; but Stafford must have known her--made her
acquaintance. Don't you remember that she was present when poor Miss
Falconer met with her fatal accident?"
Howard remembered very well, but he said "Ah, yes!" as if the fact had
just been recalled to him.
"Her father died and left her a hatful of money--that's ever so many
months ago--and now she's come up to London; and I tell you, Howard,
that it is with her as it was with the friend of our school-boy days:
'I came, "I was seen," I conquered!' Everybody is mad about her. She is
staying with some country people called the Vaynes, people who would
have passed, like a third _entrée_, unnoticed; but they are deluged
with invitations, and 'All on account of Eliza.'"
"Do not be vulgar, Bertie," said Howard, rebukingly.
"Well it was vulgar" admitted Bertie, "especially applied to such an
exquisite creature as Miss Heron--Oh there she is with young Glarn!
They say that he is more than ready to lay his ducal coronet at her
feet--confound the young beggar!--but she doesn't give him the least
encouragement to do so. Look! she doesn't appear to be listening to
him, though he's talking for all he's worth. And it's the same with all
of us: we're all dying with love for her, and for all she cares, we may
die!"
Howard looked across the room and caught a glimpse of a tall, slim
figure, a pale, ivory-tinted face with soft and silky black hair,
dressed in the simplest fashion, and dark, violet eyes half hidden by
their long lashes. It was a lovely face and something more--an
impressive one: it was a face, once seen, not easily forgotten. Perhaps
it was not its beauty, but a certain preoccupied expression, a sadness
in the eyes and in the curve of the expressive lips, which made it so
haunting a one. She was exquisitely dressed, with a suggestion of
mourning in the absence of diamonds and a touch of pale violet in the
black lace frock.