He had left his sick-chamber for the first time, and was reclining on a couch in a pleasant little sitting-room, which Lady Gwendolyn had filled with fresh roses in the morning, that he might receive a fragrant greeting on entering. He looked up languidly as she opened the door; but his hollow eyes brightened at once when he saw who it was, and he held out his thin hand with a smile.
“How long you have been gone, Gwen?”
And he patted the chair near him by way of inviting her to occupy it.
“Are you tired, dear?” he added suddenly, discovering that she was very pale.
“No—that is to say, a little. How do you feel, Lawrence?”
“Delightfully frisky! as if I could jump over the moon. Do you know, I shall be able to travel next week.”
Lady Gwendolyn shook her head.
“Nothing of the kind; don’t talk nonsense, Colonel Dacre. Doctor May says you must not stir for a fortnight.”
“Of course; because he wants to keep me under his thumb as long as he can. Doctor May is a capital fellow; but he must take care of himself.”
“And of you.”