Adrien Leroy dined alone that night--a most unusual occurrence; but the
scene with Lady Merivale moved him, and still troubled his mind. He had
hitherto only regarded his love-making with her as part in the comedy of
life, wherein he played the lover, to her lead; doffing and donning the
character at will. That she had taken either him or herself seriously
had never entered into his mind. Believing also in the hopelessness of
his love for Lady Constance, he regretted bitterly having allowed his
secret to escape him; yet so unaccustomed was he to the conventional and
inevitable lying of the world in which he moved so serenely, that it had
never occurred to him to deny the charge, and swear everlasting devotion
to the countess alone.

Norgate, who waited on him as usual, noticed his abstraction.

"We're getting tired of London again," said that astute servant to
himself, as he changed the dishes. "We're thinking of going East again
or my name ain't what it is." For Adrien had spent the preceding year in
Persia.

After dinner Leroy lingered in the comfortable, luxurious room, as if
loth to start out again on the weary round of amusement. To youth and
the uninitiated, pleasure, as represented by balls, theatres or
feasting, seems to be an everlasting joy; but to those born in the midst
of it, trained and educated only to amuse or to be amused, it becomes
work, and work of a most fatiguing nature. To dance when one wishes to
rest; to stand, hour after hour, receiving guests with smile and bows,
when one would gladly be in bed; to eat, when one has no appetite for
food; all this, continued day in day out, is no longer a pleasure--it
becomes a painful duty.