Windlehurst was a good
actor, and he had broken off his words as though the group he was now
watching had suddenly claimed his attention. "Well, well, Duchess," he
said reflectively, "I see a new nine days' wonder yonder." Then, in
response to a reminder from Hylda, he continued: "Ah, yes, the attack!
Oh, Persia--Persia, and our feeble diplomacy, my dear lady, though you
mustn't take that as my opinion, opponent as I am. That's the charge,
Persia--and her cats."
The Duchess breathed a sigh of relief; for she knew what Windlehurst had
been going to say, and she shrank from seeing what she felt she would
see, if Egypt and Claridge Pasha's name were mentioned. That night at
Harnley had burnt a thought into her mind which she did not like. Not
that she had any pity for Eglington; her thought was all for this girl
she loved. No happiness lay in the land of Egypt for her, whatever her
unhappiness here; and she knew that Hylda must be more unhappy still
before she was ever happy again, if that might be. There was that
concerning Eglington which Hylda did not know, yet which she must know
one day--and then! But why were Hylda's eyes so much brighter and softer
and deeper to-night? There was something expectant, hopeful, brooding in
them.
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