Doris rose.
“I must go now, my lord,” she said, faintly.
“Yes?” he said, wistfully. “Yes, I suppose so. It was very good of you, my dear, to humor an old man’s whim. Let me look at you,” and he raised himself on his elbow. “You are very pretty. Did I tell you I had a daughter? Yes, yes. I think—it is only a fancy, this—that she would have looked like you. He will be a happy man who wins that beautiful face and gentle heart!”
Doris’ face flushed, and her eyes dropped, and his keen ones noted her embarrassment.
“Ah,” he said; “there is some one already, is there not?”
“Yes, my lord,” said poor Doris, in a low voice.
He nodded.
“Yes, yes! Who is he? What is his name? But it’s no use telling me; I can’t remember, you see! I should like to see him. Will you ask him to come and see me, an old man on the verge of the grave? You can say that, though it isn’t true! No, I’m worth twenty dead men still,” and he raised himself, and glared at the opposite wall with a proud, cold hauteur, which made Doris shrink, for suddenly there flashed upon her mind the night Jeffrey had taken her to Drury Lane, and she had seen the old, stern-looking man in the box; and this was he! She remembered and recognized him now.
She rose trembling, and filled with a vague fear.
“Must you go? Thank you for coming to me! Remember, tell the fortunate man who has won you that I shall esteem it a favor if he will bring you to see me again. I should like to congratulate him upon the treasure he has got.”