"She is more dazzling than they said," my Lord Marlborough thought,
watching her at the tragedy one night, "but she carries with her a
thought of something she would forget in the gayeties of the world."
The Duke of Osmonde sate in his own box that night and in the course of
the play went to his kinsman's for a few moments and paid his respects
to her ladyship, who received him graciously. This his Grace of
Marlborough beheld but did not mark her soft quick aside to him.
"May I ask your Grace's aid?" she said. "Look at my lord. His kindness
to me will not let him own that he is ailing. He will not remain at
home from these festivities because he knows I would remain with him. I
beg you persuade him that he is wrong and but makes me unhappy. Your
Grace will do this?"
"Your Ladyship may trust me," was his answer. 'Twas then that his Grace
of Marlborough saw him turn from her with a bow and go to sit by her
husband, who, 'twas indeed true, looked this night older than his
years, and was of an ivory pallor and worn. 'Twas at this time the Duke
marked that there stood upon the stage among the company of men of
fashion, idlers, and young fops sitting and lounging there, a man
attired in peach-coloured velvet, whose delicacy of bloom, combining
itself with the fair curls which fell upon his shoulders, made him look
pale and haggard. He was a young man and a handsome one, but had the
look of an ill liver, and as he stood in a careless, insolent attitude
he gazed steadfastly and with burning eyes at my Lady Dunstanwolde.
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