“I will get a carriage, my lady——” said the valet; but Doris shook her head.
“It is no distance; I would rather walk.”
Lady Despard waved her hand to her with a smile made up of affection and amusement.
“Another conquest, my dear,” she said. “It’s a pity Percy Levant isn’t a curate; you would have made such an admirable district visitor.”
On their way through the quiet streets the valet, answering Doris’ questions, gave her some information respecting the marquis’ condition.
“It was the excitement of the grand party, you see, miss,” he said. “The party given in Lady Grace’s honor, the young lady who is to marry my Lord Cecil, that did it. His lordship isn’t used to excitement, and it was quite against Lord Cecil’s wish that the party was given, but the marquis was so delighted at the engagement that he would insist—I’m afraid I’m walking too fast for you, miss,” he broke off, as he glanced at Doris’ face, which had grown pale and wan.
“No, no,” she said, quickly. “It—it is rather warm. Lady Grace is very beautiful, is she not? Yes, I know she is beautiful.”
“Oh, yes, miss; her ladyship is one of the acknowledged beauties, as I dare say you are aware.”
“Yes,” said Doris, raising her nosegay to her face to hide the quiver of the lips. “And—and Lord Cecil”—how little the man guessed the effort it cost her to speak the name!—“he is very much attached——” she stopped, remembering that it was rather indiscreet to discuss his master’s affairs with this man.
“Attached to her ladyship, miss?” he said, with perfect respect. “Yes, oh, yes; how could he be otherwise?” He seemed to hesitate a moment, then he said, rather reflectively, “Lord Cecil has rather changed of late.”