“You shall tell me nothing,” he said, waving his hand. “I am sorry I can’t give you his address. But I will tell you what we can do!” he added as if an idea had occurred to him. “If you will write to him and intrust the letter to me, I will see that it is forwarded—indeed, I will get the address from the marquis and forward it to-night.”
“Thank you,” said Doris, in a low voice, and she went to the table.
Mr. Spenser Churchill, with true delicacy, slipped out, and had a few minutes’ chat with Mrs. Jelf, who was reduced to tears at the prospect of losing her young charge.
When he came back, Doris was standing with a note in her hand.
“There it is,” she said. “If”—she paused for a second, then went on firmly—“if Lord Neville should ask you where I am gone, will you promise not to tell him, please? No one knows but yourself, and—and I do not wish him to be told.”
He inclined his head as he took the note, and with a great show of carefulness, put it in his pocketbook.
“My lips are sealed, my dear young lady. Whatever your reasons may be—and please understand that I do not seek to know them—your request shall be considered sacred by me. Lord Neville shall never learn your whereabouts from me!” and it is only fair to say, that for once, Mr. Spenser Churchill spoke the truth!
A subdued and placid smile beamed on his benevolent countenance when, having taken leave of Doris, he made his way across the meadows to the Towers; and the smile grew more placid and self-complacent when, having reached his own rooms, he took the note from his pocket, and rang for a jug of hot water.
“Let it be quite hot, if you please,” he said to the chamber-maid, and the girl brought it almost boiling.
Then he locked the door, and, holding the envelope over the steam until it had become ungummed, he drew out the note, and read it.