"Mr. Leicester, too, if he will permit me to say so," continued the captain, "is one of those disinterested men who follow the bent of their passing fancy without thought or reflection. Immensely rich, my dear madam, immensely! He should marry rank. Rank is what he wants--so does Violet. It would never do for Violet to marry one of her own class--never! Poor John would rise from his grave to forbid it. Hundreds of times he has said to me 'Howard, my girl must be a countess!' Poor John!"
Lady Lackland sighed sympathetically, and her voice was less cold than it had been hitherto toward the captain when she said:
"She is beautiful and well bred enough for any rank."
"Did I hear that Lord Fitz sang?" he said, softly. "If so, I wish we could induce him to sing a duet with Violet."
"I'll try," said Lady Lackland, instantly acting on the hint, and she went over to Violet.
"Miss Mildmay, will you sing a duet with my son? Please do; we are dying for a little music."
Violet, ever ready to give pleasure, rose and laid down her fan.
Lord Fitz, who had vainly been trying to interest Mr. Dodson in the next likelihoods for the coming race meetings, came forward with a blush of pleasure, and Lady Lackland had the satisfaction of seeing Lord Fitz and Violet at the piano.
Then the captain went up to Bertie and in his pleasantest manner said:
"Mr. Fairfax, there is a sketch here you ought to see. I have never seen such color and tint in so simple an effect."
Bertie looked up at him as if he could have pitched him out of the window, but he rose and with as good a grace as he could assume went with the artistic captain to inspect the sketch.
Leicester and Ethel were left alone, and they fell to talking of violets.
The song ended, and there were the usual thanks and requests for more.
Violet turned to Ethel and Leicester with a smile.
"Enjoyed it, did you?" she said, echoing his words. "How can you say so? I heard you talking the whole while!"
"Yes," said Fitz, who was radiant and eager to sing another in the same company, "it was too bad, and there's no escaping Mr. Leicester's voice."
"Thank you," said Leicester. "No one would wish to escape yours. Sing another, pray."
"Do you not sing, Mr. Leicester?" said Lady Lackland. "No? Mrs. Dodson, perhaps. Ethel, if Miss Mildmay is too hot, will you sing?"