“I am sent after you, Miss Daw,” he said, raising his hat with a smile that lit up his plain face. “Enid is pining for you, and thinks you will be fatigued with so much walking.”
Margery laughed a little silvery laugh that sounded strange in her own ears—it was long since she had been merry.
“Lady Enid does not know my capabilities,” she answered. “I am a country girl, and walking comes naturally to me; but I am quite ready to go to her.”
Lord Court turned and kept pace beside her.
“I can see walking is a pleasure to you,” he remarked, easily. “I have been watching you, Miss Daw, and have been struck by the very un-English nature of your carriage; you bear yourself like an Andalusian. There is something peculiarly ungraceful in the ordinary Englishwoman’s walk.”
“I think high heels have a great deal to answer for,” Margery responded, the color just faintly tinting her cream-white cheeks. “I have been seriously alarmed at the shoes I have seen since I came to town; it must be almost like walking on stilts.”
“They are for show, not use,” said the earl, smiling. “What a beautiful sky! It reminds me of the sunsets we used to see at Court Manor. My sister, I dare say, has spoken to you of our old home, Miss Daw?”
“Lady Enid is never tired of dwelling on its beauties; she seems to love it so much.”
“I have not seen it now for years,” the earl said—and Margery saw a shadow cross his face; “but its memory is very dear. In point of beauty and value it does not compare with either Drake Park or Hohen Castle, both Court possessions; to me, however, it is far more beautiful.” He paused, then said, abruptly, “Miss Daw, do you think it would make Enid happier if she returned to the manor for a while?”
“Yes,” Margery answered, simply; “I am sure of it. She is so good, so sweet, that she never complains; but I know she is pining for a glimpse of the country, and I think she would grow stronger out of London—she has been in town so long.”