Her ladyship concealed a cynical smile under cover of her fan.

Mr.
Caryll--standing in the background beside Hortensia's chair--smiled, too, and poor Hortensia, detecting his smile, sought to take comfort in it.
"My son," interposed the countess, "is, I am sure, gratified to hear you so commend his conduct." Mr.Templeton bowed to her with a great politeness.

"I should be a stone, ma'am, did I not signify my--ah--appreciation of it." "There is a little more to follow, sir," put in Mr.Caryll, in that quiet manner of his.

"I think you will find it blunt the edge of his lordship's lofty loyalty--cause it to savor less like the patriotism of Rome, and more like that of Israel." Mr.Templeton turned upon him a face of cold displeasure.

He would have spoken, but that whilst he was seeking words of a becoming gravity, Rotherby forestalled him.
"Sir," he exclaimed, "what I did, I did though my ruin must have followed.