We have met like those poor weeds. Don't let us part till the tide
parts us.'
Lesbia gave a little sigh, and submitted. She had talked of women
obeying their masters; and the implication was that she meant to obey
Mr. Smithson. But there is a fate in these things; and the man who was
to be her master, whose lightest breath was to sway her, whose lightest
look was to rule her, was here at her side in the silence of the summer
night.
They talked long, but of indifferent subjects; and their talk might have
been heard by every member of the Orleans Club, and no harm done. Yet
words and phrases count for very little in such a case. It is the tone,
it is the melody of a voice, it is the magic of the hour that tells.
The tide came, in the person of Mr. Smithson, and parted these two weeds
that were drifting towards the great mysterious ocean of fate.
'I have been hunting for you everywhere,' he said, cheerfully. 'If you
want another waltz, Lady Lesbia, you had better take the next. I believe
it is to be the last. At any rate our party are clamouring to be driven
home.
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