SEVENTH SCENE.

The Evening Party.

---------------------------------------------------- MR. TURLINGTON,

LADY WINWOOD At Home.

Wednesday, December 15th.—­Ten o’clock.
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“Dearest Natalie—­As the brute insists, the brute must have the invitation which I inclose.  Never mind, my child.  You and Launce are coming to dinner, and I will see that you have your little private opportunities of retirement afterward.  All I expect of you in return is, not to look (when you come back) as if your husband had been kissing you.  You will certainly let out the secret of those stolen kisses, if you don’t take care.  At mamma’s dinner yesterday, your color (when you came out of the conservatory) was a sight to see.  Even your shoulders were red!  They are charming shoulders, I know, and men take the strangest fancies sometimes.  But, my dear, suppose you wear a chemisette next time, if you haven’t authority enough over him to prevent his doing it again!

“Your affectionate LOUISA.”

The private history of the days that had passed since the marriage was written in that letter.  An additional chapter—­of some importance in its bearing on the future—­was contributed by the progress of events at Lady Winwood’s party.

By previous arrangement with Natalie, the Graybrookes (invited to dinner) arrived early.  Leaving her husband and her stepdaughters to entertain Sir Joseph and Miss Lavinia, Lady Winwood took Natalie into her own boudoir, which communicated by a curtained opening with the drawing-room.

“My dear, you are looking positively haggard this evening.  Has anything happened?”

“I am nearly worn out, Louisa.  The life I am leading is so unendurable that, if Launce pressed me, I believe I should consent to run away with him when we leave your house tonight.”

“You will do nothing of the sort, if you please.  Wait till you are sixteen.  I delight in novelty, but the novelty of appearing at the Old Bailey is beyond my ambition.  Is the brute coming to-night?”

“Of course.  He insists on following me wherever I go.  He lunched at Muswell Hill today.  More complaints of my incomprehensible coldness to him.  Another scolding from papa.  A furious letter from Launce.  If I let Richard kiss my hand again in his presence, Launce warns me he will knock him down.  Oh, the meanness and the guiltiness of the life I am leading now!  I am in the falsest of all false positions, Louisa, and you encouraged me to do it.  I believe Richard Turlington suspects us.  The last two times Launce and I tried to get a minute together at my aunt’s, he contrived to put himself in our way.  There he was, my dear, with his scowling face, looking as if he longed to kill Launce.  Can you do anything for us tonight?  Not on my account.  But Launce is so impatient.  If he can’t say two words to me alone this evening, he declares he will come to Muswell Hill, and catch me in the garden tomorrow.”