Doris rose almost hastily.
“I—I think I will go to bed,” she said. “I am very tired, and you will excuse me.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll excuse you,” said Lady Despard, smiling. “It is only natural that you should want to run away and hide yourself to-night. And, am I to tell him, dear?”
Doris turned at the door.
“You may tell every one,” she said, quietly. “All the world may know it. It is quite fixed and certain, Lady Despard.”
Doris lay awake all through that night trying to realize the fact that she was betrothed to Percy Levant, and by the morning she had succeeded. She would begin a new chapter of her life from this date. The past, which was illuminated by the memory of those happy days in Barton meadows, when she loved and thought herself beloved by Lord Cecil Neville, must be buried forever. In the future she must set her heart upon one task, that of learning to love the man who loved her so truly and devotedly, and whom she had promised to marry.
She went down to breakfast a little paler than usual, but very calm and self-possessed, looking, as Lady Despard thought, as she greeted her with a loving kiss, like a lily, in her simple white frock.
“Well, dear!” she said, “you have come down, then! I told Mr. Churchill that you were so tired last night that you would very likely not put in an appearance till lunch. He’s on the terrace—oh! here he is!”
Mr. Spenser Churchill came in at the French window as she spoke, and advanced to Doris with his sweetest and most benevolent smile.
“My dear Miss Marlowe!” he murmured. “How do you do? I am so glad to see you, and looking the picture of health and happiness”—there were dark marks under Doris’ eyes, which wore the look a sleepless night always produces—“the very picture of health and happiness! And with good reason—good reason! You see, a little bird has told me the news,” and he wagged his head playfully.