“For what we are about to receive,” she whispered to the Viscount who sat next to her. “Why does the creature take us into his confidence? We will accent the lady’s character on trust, though she dips her fingers into the dish.” “He’s always so cursed convinced we’re thinking about him,” said the lord. But Sir David Blythewood was risen to his feet, and faced his Bohemian friend with a wrathful face. “The times excuse some jesting,” he began. “I am in dead earnest, Blythewood.” “Then, so am I, sir; and I’ll beg the favour of a word with you by and by.” “At your pleasure. And now, having called the grace, we’ll drink the soup.” At all this Luvaine looked plentifully surprised. He stared from one to the other of the company with his melancholy frown; and of a sudden he was on his feet. “Since none will congratulate you, sir,” he said, “I will venture the statement that I never read man’s happiness in a purer face. I know nothing but this; and I drink the lady’s fair health with all my heart.” Here in truth was an unexpected champion. With a radiant smile Tuke turned to one of the gaping servants. “Fill your future mistress’s glass,” he said; “and kiss the rim, Betty, to your good friend.” The poor girl shot a timid, grateful glance across the table. Her eyes swam with tears. For her, indeed, the ordeal was the severest. Gifted with a natural grace of refinement, she yet would hardly venture to eat or drink, lest she should offend by some little solecism against taste. She would not question her lord’s insistence that she should come and sit at his table and take her right rank that was to be the mistress of it; but, oh! how she had longed to be spared the trial until he had loved her and coaxed her and disciplined her into a grave knowledge of the proprieties. And, for himself, he was not long in recognizing how his impulsiveness had again thrown him at the jump. For, to satisfy his own scruples of high-mindedness, he had submitted his sweet maid to insult and his guests to embarrassment; and there the situation stuck, and a very awkward and unappetizing one it was. The meal passed to a stiff accompaniment of formalities of both speech and behaviour. Angela assumed, perhaps, a superlative manner of deportment, and she laughed extremely, on a high note, at some very stupid things Dunlone said to her. It would have been all dreadfully prosaic and worldly, had not a touch of tragedy been introduced suddenly from a quite unexpected quarter. The wine had been placed on the table and the servants were withdrawn, when Tuke was aware that the crazed girl had come into the room and was standing motionless behind his chair. He turned sharply round. Darda, her hands clasped at her back, was gazing at him with an intense look. “What is it?” he said. “Have you news?” “Oh! yes,” she answered, nodding her head--“bad news--very, very bad.”