The valet was too well trained to exhibit any sign of surprise.
“Yes, my lord,” he said, quietly. “Lord Cecil will accompany us, I presume?”
“You do presume!” retorted the marquis. “Lord Cecil will not accompany us! Great heaven, do you think I want a schoolboy hanging to my coat tails? Certainly not—we go alone! Let me see, it will be very pleasant in Italy! Rome! No; not Rome, it will be too crowded; and Florence is full of tourists at this time! We will go to Pescia.”
“Very good, my lord,” said the man, and he left the room and went straight to the doctors.
“Italy?” said Sir Andrew. “Well, yes, it will do his lordship no harm and may do him good. Pescia is a quiet place and will suit the marquis. I will write to the doctor over there and ask him to watch his lordship. And he wants to go alone, does he? Well, I suppose you can take care of him?”
The valet professed himself quite capable of doing so, and in the end it was decided not to thwart the sick man’s fancy.
Lord Cecil was consulted and came to see him.
“Will you not let me come with you, sir?” he asked.
“Thanks, no,” replied the marquis. “Delighted as I should be to have you as my companion,” with a bow, “I must not forget that your military duties have a prior claim upon you. No, I shall go alone. I am aware that you all think I am dying, but I can assure you, with some regret, that you are very much mistaken. You will have to wait for the title a little while longer, Cecil Neville,” and he smiled sardonically.
What could Cecil say or do but assist as far as he was able in securing the comfort and safety of the old man, who even in his weakness possessed a fiercer self-will than most men can boast of in the prime of their strength? They wrote to the English doctor at Pescia, engaged a villa in the best part of the town, and sent over his lordship’s traveling chariot and those servants whom he was accustomed to have about him. And Cecil himself accompanied the party across the channel, though even to this short escortage the marquis was opposed.