He was scarcely longer, and still pale and wearied-looking, was conducted to the library.
The marquis was sitting in his easy-chair, wrapped in his velvet dressing-gown, and looked up with his usual cold smile, and a slight elevation of the eyebrow, denoted his recognition of Cecil’s altered appearance.
“How do you do?” he said, giving him the tips of his thin fingers. “I am afraid you have been rather hurried in your journey——”
“I came back without the loss of a moment,” said Lord Cecil, gravely. “I should have come before, but I waited to complete the business, or until I heard from you——”
The marquis shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m afraid you have inconvenienced yourself on my account,” he said, coolly and indifferently. “There was no reason on earth why you should remain there a moment longer than you liked——”
Lord Cecil’s pale face flushed, and he made a movement of impatience, almost of indignation.
“You must have been bored to death—oh, no; I forgot—you take an interest in those people. Ah, yes. I got your letters—quite reports, weren’t they? I am ashamed to say I didn’t read them.”
Lord Cecil’s eyes flashed, but he restrained himself with an effort.
“My lord,” he said, grimly, more firmly and sternly than he had ever spoken in his life, “I will not trouble you with an account of my mission—for it was a mission, carelessly as you ignore it. I am too full of anxiety on another matter. Will you tell me the meaning of the note you sent me?”