"It's a tub of love," said the sandy young woman earnestly; which
confused him more than ever.
And his confusion became excessive at the next words he heard--
spoken, these, by the old lady, who said: "We won't wait. Lady
Caroline is always late"--for he only then, on hearing her name, really
and properly remembered Lady Caroline, and the thought of her confused
him to excess.
He went into the dining-room like a man in a dream. He had come
out to this place to see Lady Caroline, and had told her so. He had
even told her in his fatuousness--it was true, but how fatuous--that he
hadn't been able to help coming. She didn't know he was married. She
thought his name was Arundel. Everybody in London thought his name was
Arundel. He had used it and written under it so long that he almost
thought it was himself. In the short time since she had left him on
the seat in the garden, where he told her he had come because he
couldn't help it, he had found Rose again, had passionately embraced
and been embraced, and had forgotten Lady Caroline. It would be an
extraordinary piece of good fortune if Lady Caroline's being late meant
she was tired or bored and would not come to dinner at all. Then he
could--no, he couldn't. He turned a deeper red even than usual, he
being a man of full habit and red anyhow, at the thought of such
cowardice.
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