With a slight bow he was leaving the room, when the young fellow who had been the first speaker, said:
“One moment, Lord Neville, if you please.” Lord Cecil stopped, and stood facing them, with a stern countenance. “If any one is to blame in this matter, it is myself; and I am ready to give you any satisfaction you may require; but I think it right to state, frankly and freely, that I did not mention the lady’s name, nor was I aware that she was engaged to you. I will say, also, that I deeply regret that I should have mentioned the subject at all. But I spoke the simple truth when I said that it was a topic of common rumor; and I may add that it will give me great pleasure and satisfaction to contradict the report whenever and wherever I may hear it repeated.”
“I thank you,” said Lord Cecil, simply, and with a grave bow that took in all of them, he turned and left the room.
An hour later he was on his way to England.
By whomsoever spread, this report was in circulation—and he could not contradict it! Lady Grace had been to his rooms alone and unattended, and it was his duty as a gentleman and a man of honor to protect her.
He had heard, with a scarlet face, the words of the young fellow, who had said that Lady Grace was in love with him, and though he did not believe it—for had she not herself said that it was not so?—it was his duty to propose to her.
What did it matter what became of him, or whom he married? He must marry some one, and some day. The heir to the marquisate of Stoyle could not remain single. Rank has its duties as well as its privileges, and it is the duty of the head of a noble house to carry on the direct line. He would have to marry sooner or later, though his heart throbbed and ached every time he thought of Doris Marlowe; and why not marry Lady Grace?
He thought of her beauty; he recalled her noble generosity to him. Why, she had not only come to his aid when he was in mortal straits, but she had done so at the risk of her social reputation! Surely, if he must marry some one, it must be Lady Grace.
He might also have reminded himself that by so doing he would win his uncle’s—the marquis’—favor; but, to do Lord Cecil credit, he did not think of that; he only remembered Lady Grace’s goodness to him.
He reached London at noon, had a bath, and allowed his valet to clothe him in the regulation morning attire, and went straight to the Peytons’ house.