“It is dreadful to hear him talk so strangely,” he said. “Can nothing be done, no experiment be tried? Perhaps if I brought Lady Grace?”
“Bring her ladyship, by all means,” said the doctor. “There is no knowing what a familiar face may do. Yes, bring her, Lord Cecil.”
Cecil jumped into a hansom, and returned with Lady Grace, whom he took up to the marquis’ chair.
“Here is Grace, sir,” he said.
“Grace? Grace? What Grace?” demanded the old man, with a hard, keen glance at the beautiful face he used to know so well. “I have not the honor and pleasure of the young lady’s acquaintance. Do me the favor to introduce me, if you please.”
“Surely you know me, dear marquis!” said Lady Grace, bending over him.
The old man took her hand, and turned it over in his, with a vacant smile. “Let me see, Peyton calls this girl of his Grace, doesn’t he? Are you Peyton’s daughter?”
“You know I am, my lord!” she said. “You remember my father, your oldest friend!”
“Jack Peyton! Oh, yes!” he said, with his old, caustic smile. “My oldest and best friend; he proved himself so by running off with the girl I was going to marry. And then I married Lucy——” His lips tightened, and seemed to grow stiff and hard—“and she ran away, too. I dare say she had reason. The child was a girl; it ought to have been a boy, and I hated it because it was not one. Yes, it ought to have been a boy, and cut out Cecil. And now Cecil will be the heir. I beg your pardon, Cecil,” he broke off with his sardonic smile, “I forgot you were present. Yes, it was a girl. Some one told me that it was dead, and Lucy, too. No, I don’t wear mourning; why should I?” with a hard, haughty stare. “Let the man who went with her wear mourning; I dare say he regrets her, the fool. He was an old flame of hers. Spenser Churchill can tell you all about him, for he helped me to get Lucy away from him. Heaven knows what I saw in her to take so much trouble! I don’t! Where is Churchill, by the way?” he broke off to inquire.
“He is on the Continent, sir,” said Lord Cecil.