The rest of the party, however, declined. They were all busy elsewhere,
except Lord Bracondale and the French Count--they would come, with
pleasure, they said.

Theodora wondered what Josiah would say. Would he go? and if not, would
he let her go? This was more important.

"Then we shall meet at breakfast to-morrow," Lord Bracondale said, as he
helped her on with her cloak. "That will give me something to look
forward to."

"Will it?" she said, and there was trouble in the two blue stars which
looked up at him. "Perhaps I shall not be able to come; my husband is
rather an invalid, and--"

But he interrupted her.

"Something tells me you will come; it is fate," he said, and his voice
was grave and tender.

And Theodora, who had never before had the opportunity of talking about
destiny, and other agreeable subjects, with beautiful Englishmen who
could only be--lovers--felt the red blood rush to her cheeks and a
thrill flutter her heart. So she quickened her steps and kept close to
her father, who could have dispensed with this mark of affection.

"Dearest child," he said, when they were seated in the brougham, "you
are married now and should be able to look after yourself, without
staying glued to my side so much--it is rather bourgeois."