They trudged and talked, and Manning struggled, as he said, to “get the hang of it all. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. That was life. —Sorry to quit your lord—worships, I mean,—I don't know what I mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,—"but I've a few necessary orders to give below. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. "My worst fears are realized. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
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