Sometimes Lesbia's heart beat a little faster as Mr.
Hammond read, for it seemed as if it was he who was speaking to her, and
not the dead poet.
An hour or more passed in this way. Fraeulein Mueller was charmed at
hearing some of her favourite poems, asking now for this little bit, and
anon for another, and expatiating upon the merits of German poets in
general, and Heine in particular, in the pauses of the lecture. She was
quite carried away by her delight in the poet, and was so entirely
uplifted to the ideal world that, when a footman came with a message
from Lady Maulevrier requesting her presence, she tripped gaily off at
once, without a thought of danger in leaving those two together on the
lawn. She had been a faithful watch-dog up to this point; but she was
now lulled into a false sense of security by the idea that the time of
peril was all but ended.
So she left them; but could she have looked hack two minutes afterwards
she would have perceived the unwisdom of that act.
No sooner had the Fraeulein turned the corner of the shrubbery than
Hammond laid aside his book and drew nearer Lesbia, who sat looking
downward, with her eyes upon the delicate piece of fancy work which had
occupied her fingers all the morning.
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