“Then it was for that you went out and got wet!” she exclaimed. “It was very kind, but—was it worth while, Mr. Levant?”
“I thought so, and think so still, but I may be mistaken,” he retorted, with his peculiar, half-cynical smile. “Good-night,” and he moved away, as if the incident were done with.
Gradually she began to realize that in any difficulty he was always at her side. A big picnic was to be arranged, and Lady Despard, who had got accustomed to leaving everything to Doris, had done so on this occasion, and Doris was up early in the morning to give the necessary orders. She found that all the preparations had been made. Mr. Percy Levant had interviewed the major domo, and the thing was done.
When Doris thanked him, he smiled, and courteously cut her short.
“I don’t deserve any thanks,” he said. “You see, my Italian is not so good as yours, and I was anxious to practice it with the major domo, that’s all. We are all moved by selfish motives, Miss Marlowe.”
“Not all,” said Doris. “Not Mr. Percy Levant.”
He started slightly, and fixed his brilliant eyes on her for a second; then, with a laugh, said:
“Yes, even Mr. Percy Levant.”
Twenty times a day she found him coming to her assistance, but always in the same way, always with the same unobtrusiveness, which was almost coldness, but which was very welcome to Doris, contrasted with the fervent, accentuated attention of the rest of the men.
This evening, as she sat beside the hammock, looking at the stars, which were beginning to peep out from the midst of the deep blue of the sky, and thinking of the past, she was conscious, in a half-troubled way, of recalling one of the innumerable services Percy Levant had rendered her, and she started when Lady Despard said, in her sleepy fashion: