“So he does, but I have been told that this son of Lord Rutland, whom I have never seen, has the beauty of—­of the devil, and exercises a great influence over her Majesty and her friends.  The young man is not known in this neighborhood, for he has never deigned to leave the court; but Lady Cavendish tells me he has all the fascinations of Satan.  I would that Satan had him.”

“The feud still lives between Vernon and Rutland?” I asked.

“Yes, and it will continue to live so long as an ounce of blood can hold a pound of hatred,” said the girl, with flashing eyes and hard lips.  “I love to hate the accursed race.  They have wronged our house for three generations, and my father has suffered greater injury at their hands than any of our name.  Let us not talk of the hateful subject.”

We changed the topic.  I had expected Dorothy to invite me to go with her to meet Lady Crawford, but the girl seemed disinclined to leave the tap-room.  The Peacock was her father’s property, and the host and hostess were her friends after the manner of persons in their degree.  Therefore Dorothy felt at liberty to visit the tap-room quite as freely as if it had been the kitchen of Haddon Hall.

During our conversation I had frequently noticed Dorothy glancing slyly in the direction of the fireplace; but my back was turned that way, and I did not know, nor did it at first occur to me to wonder what attracted her attention.  Soon she began to lose the thread of our conversation, and made inappropriate, tardy replies to my remarks.  The glances toward the fireplace increased in number and duration, and her efforts to pay attention to what I was saying became painful failures.

After a little time she said:  “Is it not cool here?  Let us go over to the fireplace where it is warmer.”

I turned to go with her, and at once saw that it was not the fire in the fireplace which had attracted Dorothy, but quite a different sort of flame.  In short, much to my consternation, I discovered that it was nothing less than my handsome new-found friend, Sir John Manners, toward whom Dorothy had been glancing.

We walked over to the fireplace, and one of the fires, Sir John, moved away.  But the girl turned her face that she might see him in his new position.  The movement, I confess, looked bold to the point of brazenness; but if the movement was bold, what shall I say of her glances and the expression of her face?  She seemed unable to take her eager eyes from the stranger, or to think of anything but him, and after a few moments she did not try.  Soon she stopped talking entirely and did not even hear what I was saying.  I, too, became silent, and after a long pause the girl asked:—­

“Cousin, who is the gentleman with whom you were travelling?”

I was piqued by Dorothy’s conduct, and answered rather curtly:  “He is a stranger.  I picked him up at Derby, and we rode here together.”