“You—said—‘yes’! But, good heavens, my dear Doris, have you thought? Percy Levant! Why, child, there are half-a-dozen of the best of the men here madly in love with you. I know—I know—that the Prince Romanis is only waiting an opportunity to propose to you! He hinted as much to me yesterday! And Percy Levant! Of course, I’m not surprised that he should ask you; I’ve seen that he was over head in love with you. Of course, we’ve all seen it, but never thought he would venture to tell you, least of all that he should ask you to be his wife. Why—why, he hasn’t a penny; he is as poor as a churchmouse.”
“Then he is as rich as I,” said Doris, in a low voice.
“Yes; but—but——! But, there, what is the use of talking; it’s his face and his voice, of course. And how long have you cared for him? Are you sure you love him?”
Doris’ face grew scarlet for a moment, then went pale again.
“He loves me very dearly and truly,” she murmured, almost inaudibly.
“Yes! That’s nothing wonderful; so do other men. But you, you—do you love him?”
“I shall marry him,” said Doris, gently.
Lady Despard almost groaned.
“Why, child, you must have taken leave of your senses. You have consented to marry a poor man, a man of whom one knows nothing, and you haven’t even the excuse that you love him!”
Doris leaned her head upon her hand so that her face was hidden from Lady Despard’s anxiously searching eyes.