For Lord Airlie had watched
Gaspar Laurence--he had watched the dance and the interview that
followed it. He saw the softened look on her face, and it half
maddened him. For the first time in his life Lord Airlie was
fiercely jealous. He detested this fair-haired Gaspar, with his
fund of German romance and poetry.
Could it be that he would win the prize he himself would have
died to secure? What was he saying to her that softened the
expression on her face? What had he said that left her standing
there with a tender light in her dark eyes which he had never
seen before? He could not bear the suspense; perhaps a ball room
might not be the most appropriate place for an offer of marriage,
but he must know his fate, let it be what it might. He went up
to her and made his request.
"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, suddenly, for Lord Airlie
had walked rapidly through the suite of rooms, crowded with
people, and through the long conservatory.
"We are not alone," he replied. "See, Lady Laurence and Mr.
Gresham prefer the rose garden here to those warm rooms. I must
speak with you, Miss Earle.
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