"
CHAPTER XIV.
In his luxurious drawing-room Allan Lyster sat alone. He was engaged to
dine with a party of guardsmen at Richmond, but he hardly felt in
spirits to go. This was Thursday; never dreaming that Lady Atherton
would fail him, he had faithfully promised to pay his bet on Friday. It
was now Thursday evening, and he had heard nothing from her. He had not
the least intention of really betraying her to her husband--he knew the
character of an English gentleman too well for that. He knew that if
Lord Atherton had but the least suspicion of the vilely treacherous way
in which he had preyed upon his innocent wife, he would, in all
probability, thrash him within an inch of his life.
He was far from being comfortable, and wished that he had taken
Adelaide's advice and had gone less rashly to work--had been content
with less. After all, he felt compelled to own that he had been rather
hard upon her.
"Let her send this time," he said to himself, "and I will not trouble
her again just yet."
He was seated in a luxurious lounging chair, on the table by his side
was a bottle of finest Cognac, and he was enjoying the flavor of a very
fine cigar. Notwithstanding all these comforts, Allan Lyster was not
happy.
"I cannot think," he said to himself, "why she does not send."
At that moment he heard a sharp ring at the door bell.
"That is the messenger," he said to himself, triumphantly, "and it is
quite time, too.
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