“Bored, dear lady!” he murmured, smoothing his long, yellow hair from his forehead. “Now, really! And I am never bored! But then I am always busy; I never permit my mind to be unoccupied. Surely one can always find some pleasant and congenial task to lighten the lengthy hours——”
She flashed a scornful look at him from her keen eyes.
“Please don’t treat me as if I were the audience at a charity meeting.”
“Alas!” he murmured softly. “Charity-meeting ladies do not wear such charming toilettes as this; would that they did!” and he beamed down admiringly at the magnificent evening dress. “What a pity it is that it should be wasted—no, I will not say that!—but it is a pity there are not younger eyes to see and admire it than mine and the dear marquis’. Now, if Cecil were here—he has so keen an appreciation for all that is beautiful!”
She looked up at him sharply.
“What do you want to tell me about him?” she demanded quickly, a faint color coming into her face. “Is—is he coming back?”
“Is Cecil coming back, dear marquis?” he asked, turning as the door opened and the marquis entered.
The marquis stopped and looked from one to the other under his brows.
“You should know best. The person who sent him to Ireland probably knows when he can come back,” he said, with cold contempt.
“Now, now, really I must protest!” said Spenser Churchill, wagging his forefinger playfully. “I know nothing about it, nothing whatever. It was on your business he went, dear lord, not mine. No, come now, really!”