A curious expression, almost one of satisfaction, shone for a moment in Percy Levant’s dark eyes.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “Though not with us you will be near at hand? And I am to come here the day after the wedding?”
“Yes,” said Spenser Churchill, nodding complacently. “You will come to me and obtain the key to the enigma, and I flatter myself, my dear Percy, that you will, I fear, alas, for the first time, overwhelm me with gratitude! Ah, lucky, lucky boy! If I had had the good fortune in early life to possess such a friend as I have proved myself to you, where should I be now, I wonder?” and he sighed unctuously.
“In gaol, I should say,” retorted Percy, grimly. Then he added, quickly, “But I like your plan, and I shall do my best to carry it out. As you say, it is too late to draw back now——”
“Much too late,” laughed the philanthropist, “even if you wished to, which you do not, my dear boy.”
“No, I do not,” he assented, and he took a cigar from his case and lit it, his white, shapely hands trembling slightly. “I am willing to follow your instruction; and all I ask is that which you have consented to: that you keep away from Pescia.”
Spenser Churchill nodded acquiescingly.
“Certainly. I agree with you, that the less I am in evidence the better.”
As he spoke, a footman came across the lawn with a telegram.
It was from Lord Cecil, and had been forwarded from Meuriguy’s. Mr. Spenser Churchill took it and opened it.