“How do you do, Miss Marlowe? I am so glad you have come. Will you sit down a little while, or would you rather go to your own room first?”
Doris sat down, and Lady Despard drawing aside a curtain from before a stained-glass window, Doris saw that her ladyship was young and remarkably pretty; she was dressed in exquisite taste, and in colors which set off her delicate complexion and softly-languid eyes. Lady Despard scanned Doris’ face for a second or two, and her gaze grew more interested.
“It was very good of you to come to me, Miss Marlowe,” she said.
Of course Doris responded that it was more than good of Lady Despard to have her.
“Not at all; the favor—if there be any—is on your side,” said her ladyship. “I am simply bored to death and pining for a companion. I hope we shall get on together. Mr. Spenser Churchill was quite eloquent in your praise; and he certainly didn’t exaggerate in one respect”—and her ladyship let her eyes wander over the pale, lovely face meaningly—“and I am sure you look awfully lovable. By the way, what’s your name—I mean your Christian name?”
Doris told her.
“How pretty. You must let me call you by it. ‘Miss Marlowe’ sounds so stiff and formal, as if you were a governess, doesn’t it? Mr. Spenser Churchill says that you are dreadfully clever; I hope you aren’t.”
Doris smiled.
“I am afraid Mr. Churchill has prepared a disappointment for you, Lady Despard,” she said.
Her ladyship shook her head.