Blanche put her hands on Lois’ waist, and gave her a gentle shake, and a glance of reproach.
“‘Miss Dormer!’ You unkind Lois!” she said. “I thought I had asked you to call me Blanche.”
Lois felt as if she must say things worthy of smiling rebuke, whether she willed it or not.
“Come, we must leave some message, in case the captain should happen to call,” said Lady Quaintree.
“Mrs. Ormsby,” she continued, turning to the housekeeper, who was following to attend them to their carriage, “if Captain Desfrayne—the gentleman who dined here yesterday—should come during the day, will you be good enough to inform him that we were unexpectedly summoned to London on the most urgent affairs?”
“I will do so, my lady,” replied Mrs. Ormsby.
The carriage drove off, containing the three ladies, Justine and the one or two other servants immediately attending them. There was no time to send for Blanche’s maid; but it was agreed that she should be sent for at once on their arrival at Lowndes Square.
Lois gazed at the stately Hall and its lovely grounds, with strange, mingled feelings, as the carriage bore her swiftly away. An uncomfortable sensation rose in her throat, as if tears of regret were stealing from their hiding-place, as she reflected that she was in all likelihood losing a chance of seeing Paul Desfrayne, and hearing his promised explanation.
“He will come to-day; and I shall not be here,” she thought.
His face and form haunted her, try as she would to banish the recollection. A dangerous longing, inexplicable to herself, rose in her heart, just to see him once more. A wicked longing, she knew, if he belonged to another. And the impediment which hindered him from addressing her was evidently an insuperable one. His words, although mystifying, left no doubt.