“That is a serious business,” he said, in his quiet fashion.
“Isn’t it?” she assented, with a smile.
He said nothing more, and passed out; but the next morning Doris found the flowers spread out on a table, under an awning, in a shady part of the terrace.
“Why, how thoughtful of the gardener!” she said to Lady Despard’s maid, who stood near.
“Oh, but it wasn’t the gardener, miss,” said the girl. “It was Mr. Percy who brought the table out here; he did it himself, and put the awning up.”
“It was very kind of him,” said Doris, and when he came in to breakfast she thanked him.
He bowed, slightly.
“It is cooler out there,” he said, simply, and turned to speak to Lady Despard at once.
A few evenings afterward a discussion arose respecting a book that had suddenly leaped into popular favor.
“What do you think of it, Miss Marlowe?” inquired an old Italian nobleman, whose breast sparkled with orders.