Beyond The Rocks | Page 4

was a lovely night,
but rather cold, so there were no diners in the garden, and the crowd
from the restaurant extended even into the hall.
It was an immense satisfaction to Dominic Fitzgerald to walk through
them all with this singularly beautiful young woman, and to remark the
effect she produced, and his cup of happiness was full when they came
upon a party at the lower end by the door; prominent, as hostess, being
Jane Anastasia McBride--the fabulously rich American widow.
In a second of time he reviewed the situation; a faint coldness in his
manner would be the thing to draw--and it was; for when he had
greeted Mrs. McBride without gush, and presented his daughter with
the air of just passing on, the widow implored them with great
cordiality to leave their solitary meal and join her party. Nor would she
hear of any refusal.
The whole scene was so novel and delightful to Theodora she cared not

at all whether her father accepted or no, so long as she might sit quietly
and observe the world.
Mrs. McBride had perceived immediately that the string of pearls
round Mrs. Josiah Brown's neck could not have cost less than nine
thousand pounds, and that her frock, although so simple, was the last
and most expensive creation of Callot Soeurs. She had always been
horribly attracted by Captain Fitzgerald, ever since that race week at
Trouville two summers ago, and fate had sent them here to-night, and
she meant to enjoy herself.
Captain Fitzgerald acceded to her request with his usual polished ease,
and the radiant widow presented the rest of her guests to the two
new-comers.
The tall man with the fierce beard was Prince Worrzoff, married to her
niece, Saidie Butcher. Saidie Butcher was short, and had a voice you
could hear across the room. The sleek, fair youth with the twinkling
gray eyes was an Englishman from the Embassy. The
disagreeable-looking woman in the badly made mauve silk was his
sister, Lady Hildon. The stout, hook-nosed bird of prey with the heavy
gold chain was a Western millionaire, and the smiling girl was his
daughter. Then, last of all, came Lord Bracondale--and it was when he
was presented that Theodora first began to take an interest in the party.
Hector, fourteenth Lord Bracondale of Bracondale (as she later that
night read in the _Peerage_) was aged thirty-one years. He had been
educated at Eton and Oxford, served for some time in the Fourth
Lifeguards, been unpaid attaché at St. Petersburg, was patron of five
livings, and sat in the House of Lords as Baron Bracondale; creation,
1505; seat, Bracondale Chase. Brothers, none. Sister living, Anne
Charlotte, married to the fourth Earl of Anningford.
Theodora read all this over twice, and also even the predecessors and
collateral branches--but that was while she burned the midnight oil and
listened to the snorts and coughs of Josiah Brown, slumbering next
door.

For the time being she raised her eyes and looked into Lord
Bracondale's, and something told her they were the nicest eyes she had
ever seen in this world.
Then when a voluble French count had rushed up, with garrulous
apologies for being late, the party was complete, and they swept into
the restaurant.
Theodora sat between the Western millionaire and the Russian Prince,
but beyond--it was a round table, only just big enough to hold
them--came her hostess and Lord Bracondale, and two or three times at
dinner they spoke, and very often she felt his eyes fixed upon her.
Mrs. McBride, like all American widows, was an admirable hostess;
the conversation never flagged, or the gayety for one moment.
The Western millionaire was shrewd, and announced some quaint
truths while he picked his teeth with an audible sound.
"This is his first visit to Europe," Princess Worrzoff said afterwards to
Theodora by way of explanation. "He is so colossally rich he don't need
to worry about such things at his time of life; but it does make me turn
to hear him."
Captain Fitzgerald was in his element. No guest shone so brilliantly as
he. His wit was delicate, his sallies were daring, his looks were
insinuating, and his appearance was perfection.
Theodora had every reason to tingle with pride in him, and the widow
felt her heart beat.
"Isn't he just too bright--your father, Mrs. Brown?" she said as they left
the restaurant to have their coffee in the hall. "You must let me see
quantities of you while we are all in Paris together. It is a lovely city;
don't you agree with me?"
And Theodora did.

Lord Bracondale was of the same breed as Captain Fitzgerald--that is,
they neither of them permitted themselves to be superseded by any
other man with the object of their