This time they drove through the streets, and Margery forced herself to talk and smile, though she was trembling with fear. If her smile died away suddenly, and if her voice had not the true ring, it was only the earl who remarked it. Lady Enid, lying back on her couch, was too interested in all that was passing to see the effort and notice the constraint.
At last all the commissions were executed, and it was with a sigh of relief that Margery found the carriage was rolling homeward.
“Shall I ever learn her sorrow?” the earl wondered, as they bowled along, noting her sweet face. “It is only one who has suffered as I have who looks as she does—yet that is impossible in her young life.”
Margery met his earnest, questioning gaze; the color rose to her cheeks, and she was about to make some remark, when suddenly, to her amazement, the earl leaned forward and pulled her on one side; then followed a sharp shock to the carriage. Dimly she saw a huge impending mass above her, and heard voices raised in alarm; then her senses cleared, and she saw the earl standing in the street, the footman beside him, and a crowd of people hurrying forward.
“There is no damage,” cried the earl, getting into the carriage again—“at least, none to us. You are not hurt?” His tone was intensely eager.
“No, no,” Margery answered, quickly; “but Lady Enid——”
“Is all right. She told me so herself, with a smile, just this minute.”
Margery bent over the couch.
“Then she deceived you,” she said, hurriedly, looking up with blanched cheeks; “for she has fainted.”