"And what are the signs, most learned Lumley?" said Florence, forcing a
smile.

"Why, in the first place, you will doubtless observe that he never takes
his eyes from you--with whomsoever he converses, whatever his
occupation, those eyes, restless and pining, wander around for one
glance from you."

Florence sighed, and looked up--at the other end of the room, her lover
was conversing with Cleveland, and his eyes never wandered in search of
her.

Ferrers did not seem to notice this practical contradiction of his
theory, but went on.

"Then surely his whole character is changed--that brow has lost its calm
majesty, that deep voice its assured and tranquil tone. Has he not
become humble, and embarrassed, and fretful, living only on your smile,
reproachful if you look upon another--sorrowful if your lip be less
smiling--a thing of doubt, and dread, and trembling agitation--slave to
a shadow--no longer lord of the creation? Such is love, such is the
love you should inspire, such is the love Maltravers is capable of--for
I have seen him testify it to another. "But," added Lumley, quickly,
and as if afraid he had said too much, "Lord Saxingham is looking out
for me to make up his whist-table. I go to-morrow--when shall you be in
town?"

"In the course of the week," said poor Florence mechanically; and Lumley
walked away.