WYLDER'S HAJVD.
28
"What thing? my dear Miss Lake," said that good lit-
tle woman, skipping to her side.
"Thestory of "Fridolin," and Retzch's pretty out-
lines. Sit down beside me, and I'll tell you the story."
"Oh !" said the Vicar's wife, taking her seat, and the
inspection and exposition began; and Mark Wylder, who
who had intended renewing his talk with Miss Lake, saw
that she had foiled him, and stood with a heightened col-
or and his hands in his pockets, looking confoundedly
cross and very like an outcast, in the shadow behind.
After a while, in a pet, he walked away. Lord Chel-
ford bad joined the two ladies, and had something to say
about German art, and some pleasant lights to throw from
foreign travel and devious reading, and was as usual in-
telligent and agreeable; and Mark was still more sore
and angry, and strutted away to another table, a long way
off, and tossed over the leaves of a folio of Wouvermans'
works, and did not see one of the plates he stared at so
savagely.
Then he joined a conversation going on between Dor-
cas Brandon and the Vicar, his brother. He assisted at it,
but took no part, and in fact was listening to that other
conversation which sounded, with its pleasant gabble and
laughter, like a little musical tinkle of bells in the distance.
His gall rose, and that distant talk rang in his ears like a
cool but intangible insult.
It was dull work. He looked at his watch — the
brougham would be at the door to take Miss Lake home
in a quarter of an hour; so he glided through a second
drawing-room, and into the hall, where he saw Larcom's
expansive white waistcoat, and disregarded his advance and
respectful inclination, and strode into the outer hall or
vestibule, where were hat-stands, walking-sticks, great
coats, umbrellas, and the exuviae of gentlemen.