“Well, Doris,” he said, “I have come back, and all is ready.”
“I am glad you have come back,” she said, in her low, sweet voice. “Lady Despard has missed you terribly.”
“And you?” he asked.
“And I!” she answered, lifting her eyes to his face for a moment. “Yes, I have missed you. I have not so many friends that I can afford to lose one without missing him.”
“Friend!” he said, almost inaudibly. “Well, yes, I am truly your friend. And you don’t regret—you have no misgivings as to the future, Doris?”
She paused, almost perceptibly, then, in a still lower voice, replied:
“No, I have no regrets, no misgivings. I—I trust you entirely.”
“Yes, dearest,” he said, and he bent and kissed her hands, “and you may do so, I think, entirely. I must go and dress now.”
“Wait a moment,” she said, falteringly. “I have something to tell you,” and she told him of her meeting with the marquis and her visit to him.
“The Marquis of Stoyle!” he said, as she mentioned his name, and he let her hands drop suddenly. “The Marquis of Stoyle!” and his eyes rested upon her face with a curious expression.