There was much that amused but nothing that interested in Lord Vargrave's fluent ease.

When he attempted sentiment, the vein was hard and hollow; he was only at home on worldly topics.

Caroline's spirits were, as usual in society, high, but her laugh seemed forced, and her eye absent.
The next day, after breakfast, Lord Vargrave walked alone to Burleigh.
As he crossed the copse that bordered the park, a large Persian greyhound sprang towards him, barking loudly; and, lifting his eyes, he perceived the form of a man walking slowly along one of the paths that intersected the wood.

He recognized Maltravers.

They had not till then encountered since their meeting a few weeks before Florence's death; and a pang of conscience came across the schemer's cold heart.