“No, I haven’t been crying,” said Doris, quietly; then, after a pause, she said, gravely, “I have promised to marry Percy Levant in a fortnight’s time, Lady Despard.”
Her ladyship started.
“In a—what time did you say? A fortnight! Oh, nonsense! No wonder you look pale! I think it is a shame you should try to impose upon my credulity, Doris; for, of course, it is only a joke!”
“It is sober earnest, dear Lady Despard,” said Doris; and then she told her of the letter of Spenser Churchill containing the offer of an engagement for Percy Levant.
“And you intend to marry him and go with him! What on earth shall I do without you? What shall I do? What a wicked girl you must be to entice me into loving you so, and then to leave me! Why, I didn’t expect this dreadful marriage to take place for at least two years, and now—! Two weeks! You must love him very dearly, Doris.”
“I respect him very highly,” said Doris. “He is not like some men—” she sighed—“he is true and steadfast, and he—he really cares for me, I think,” in a low voice. “Why should I not make him happy if I can?”
“Really cares for you! Yes, I should think he does; why, child, he worships every inch of ground those little feet of yours tread on. And so he might, considering the many others who would be only too happy to take his place. And why should you make him happy? Well, I don’t know. But it seems to me, dear, that you are one of those women who consider that they were only born to make others happy. I only hope that you will make yourself happy.”
“Oh, yes; I shall be as happy as I deserve,” said Doris with a faint smile.
“And you have quite made up your mind?” demanded Lady Despard.
“Quite,” said Doris.