When she entered the drawing room she found the viscount there alone.  He hastened to meet her with gallant alacrity and pressed his lips to hers, but at their touch the color fled from her face and did not return.  With attentive courtesy Lord Vincent handed her to a seat and remained standing near, seeking to interest and amuse her with his conversation.  But just as the tete-a-tete was growing unsupportable to Claudia, the door opened and Beatrice entered.  Too many times had Bee come in upon just such a tete-a-tete to suspect that there was anything more in this one than there had been in any other for the last six months.  So, unconscious of the recent betrothal of this pair, she, smiling, accepted the chair the viscount placed for her, and readily followed Claudia’s lead, by allowing herself to be drawn into conversation.  Several times she looked up at Claudia’s face, noticing its marble whiteness; but at length concluded that it must be only the effect of late hours, and so dropped the subject from her mind.

Presently the other members of the family dropped in and the dinner was served.

One vacant chair at the table attracted general attention.  But, ah! to one there that seat was not vacant; it was filled with the specter of her murdered truth.

“Where is Mr. Worth?” inquired Mrs. Middleton, from the head of the table.

“Oh! worked himself into a nervous headache over Allenby’s complicated brief!  I told him how it would be if he applied himself so unintermittingly to business; but he would take no warning.  Well, these young enthusiasts must learn by painful experience to modify their zeal,” said the judge, in explanation.

Everyone expressed regret except Claudia, who understood and felt how much worse than any headache was the heart-sickness that had for the time mastered even Ishmael’s great strength; but she durst utter no word of sympathy.  And the dinner proceeded to its conclusion.  And directly after the coffee was served the viscount departed.

Meanwhile Ishmael lay extended upon his bed, clasping his temples and waging a silent war with his emotions.

A rap disturbed him.

“Come in.”

Powers entered with a tea tray in his hands, upon which was neatly arranged a little silver tea-service, with a transparent white cup, saucer, and plate.  The wax candle in its little silver candlestick that sat upon the tray was the only light, and scarcely served to show the room.

Ishmael raised himself up just as Powers sat the tray upon the stand beside the bed.

“Who has had leisure to think of me this evening?” thought Ishmael, as he contemplated this unexpected attention.  Then, speaking aloud, he inquired: 

“Who sent me these, Powers?”

“Miss Middleton, sir; and she bade me to say to you that you must try to eat; and that it is a great mistake to fast when one has a nervous headache, brought on by fatigue and excitement; and that the next best thing to rest is food, and both together are a cure,” replied the man, carefully arranging the service on the stand.