“I haven’t read it, count,” said Doris.
Instantly there was an inquiry for the book, but it appeared that no one possessed a copy.
“Oh, you must read it! I’ll send to London for a copy,” said the count.
An hour afterward some one wanted a song from Percy Levant, but he was nowhere to be found, but presently one of the young men, of whom there were always more than a sufficient quantity at the villa, came in with a:
“I say, Lady Despard, if Mr. Levant doesn’t mind, he’ll lose that jolly voice of his! I’ve just met him in the hall, wet through; it’s raining cats and dogs, you know! Can’t make out where on earth he’s been, don’t you know!”
A little later, Percy Levant sauntered into the room, and Doris saw him laughing and talking with one and another on his way to the piano, and she thought the lad must have been mistaken; but, when all had gone, and she was going upstairs, he came to her, with something in his hand.
“There is the book they were talking about,” he said. “I fancy it isn’t worth the fuss they are making about it.”
“Where did you get it?” said Doris.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I was lucky enough to find a copy in the town,” he replied.