“It was this, and you know it,” said Percy Levant, in a low voice.
“Was it? I daresay. But what has that to do with Miss Marlowe’s swoon?” inquired Spenser Churchill, with a patient smile.
Percy Levant paced up and down, his head sunk upon his breast.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, inaudibly; “but I will know!”
“Don’t look so distressed, my dear Percy!” purred Spenser Churchill, leaning his head on his elbow, and watching him through half-closed eyes. “I trust there is nothing to be really anxious about. Miss Doris will be well and honor us with her presence at lunch, or at dinner, at latest. Of course, I can understand your anxiety, but don’t give way to it, my dear Percy. Will you come and sit down? I want to talk to you for a few moments.”
Percy Levant stopped short in his pacing to and fro, and looked down at him.
“Well?” he said, impatiently.
“I want to speak to you about the marriage,” said Spenser Churchill.
“What marriage?” demanded Percy Levant, with a frown.
Spenser Churchill opened his eyes and laughed softly.