d
involuntarily, in her great surprise.

CHAPTER XL.

THE DOWAGER'S EXPLANATION.

The Dowager was a woman far more clever than Lucy, who knew the world.
And she was apt perhaps, instead of missing the meaning of the facts
around her, to put too much significance in them. Now, when the little
party met at dinner, Lady Randolph saw in the faces of both husband and
wife more than was there, though much was there. Sir Tom was more grave
than became a man who had returned into life, as his aunt said, and was
looking forward to resuming the better part of existence--the House, the
clubs, the quick throb of living which is in London. His countenance was
full of thought, and there was both trouble and perplexity in it, but
not the excitement which the Dowager supposed she found there, and those
signs of having yielded to an evil influence which eyes accustomed to
the world are so ready to discover. Lucy for her part was pale and
silent. She had little to say, and scarcely addressed her husband at
all. Lady Randolph, and that was very natural, took those signs of heart
sickness for tokens of complete enlightenment, for the passion of a
woman who had entered upon that struggle with another woman for a man's
love which, even when the man is her husband, has something degrading in
it. There had been a disclosure, a terrible scene, no doubt, a stirring
up of all the passions, Lady Randolph thought. No doubt that was the
reason why the Contessa had loosed her clutches, and left the house free
of her presence; but Lucy was still trembling after the tempest, and had
not learned to take any pleasure in her victory. This was the conclusion
of the woman of the world.

The dinner was not a lengthy one, and the ladies went upstairs again,
with a suppressed constraint, each anxious to know what the other was on
her guard not to tell. They sat alone expectant for some time, making
conversation, taking their coffee, listening, and watching each how the
other listened, for the coming of the gentlemen, or rather for Sir Tom;
for Jock, in his boyish insignificance, counted for little. The trivial
little words that passed between them during this interval were charged
with a sort of moral electricity, and stung and tingled in the too
conscious silence. At length, after some time had elapsed: "I am glad I
came," said Lady Randolph, "to sit with you, Lucy, this first evening;
for of course Tom cannot resist, the first evening in town, th