“No more!” said Percy, rising and taking a step or two across the room, with his arms behind him, his head bent upon his breast again. “Let us go to them.”
“I’m quite ready,” said Spenser Churchill, smiling with intense enjoyment.
They went into the drawing-room. Lady Despard was turning over the music, Doris was seated at the tea-table.
“I am trying to find something for you to play, Mr. Levant,” she said. “We are so eager to hear you play, Miss Marlowe and I.”
He bowed, and his glance caught Doris’; but she only smiled.
“Will you not play or sing?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” she said; “I should be afraid.”
“Of me? It is I who should fear, for I know from your conversation that I shall have a musician for a critic.”
“No,” she said, quietly; “I am not a musician. You will have some tea presently?” and she raised her eyes to his with the calm politeness of perfect self-possession and good breeding.