“Then the only thing to be done is to grin and bear it, for I know the stiff-necked, resolute kind of young person you are. Oh, there is one other thing we must do: we can set about getting your things ready.”
“I shall not want many,” said Doris; “we are both very poor, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Lady Despard, dryly. “All the same, I suppose you will go decently clad.”
“And the wedding is to be very quiet,” said Doris, pushing back the hair from her forehead with a weary little gesture; “quite quiet. I don’t want any bridesmaids—”
Lady Despard shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, very well; have it all your own way. You shall be married at midnight, and in darkest secrecy, if you like. And in a fortnight! Great heavens! Why, it scarcely gives one time to make a couple of dresses.”
“Which are all I shall require,” said Doris, with a smile. “Dear Lady Despard, you forget that it is not your sister who is going to be married, but only your companion.”
Lady Despard moved away with a despairing gesture.
“I only wish you were my sister. I would show you if you should make ducks and drakes of your future in this way.”
“Don’t let us talk about it any longer,” said Doris, rising and stretching out her arms as if she were ridding herself of some incubus.