"Poor Sir Francis!" her ladyship said with a slight, mocking laugh.
"He's never happy unless he plays puppy-dog! Don't mind him, Thelma! He
won't bite, I assure you,--he means no harm. It's only his little way of
making himself agreeable!"
George Lorimer, during this particular "London season," fled the field
of action, and went to Paris to stay with Pierre Duprez. He felt that it
was dangerous to confront the fair enemy too often, for he knew in his
own honest heart that his passion for Thelma increased each time he saw
her--so, he avoided her. She missed him very much from her circle of
intimates, and often went to see his mother, Mrs. Lorimer, one of the
sweetest old ladies in the world,--who had at once guessed her son's
secret, but, like a prudent dame, kept it to herself. There were few
young women as pretty and charming as old Mrs. Lorimer, with her
snow-white parted hair and mild blue eyes, and voice as cheery as the
note of a thrush in spring-time. After Lady Winsleigh, Thelma liked her
best of all her new friends, and was fond of visiting her quiet little
house in Kensington,--for it was very quiet, and seemed like a sheltered
haven of rest from the great rush of frivolity and folly in which the
fashionable world delighted.
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