“Yes,” she said, her heart beating. “Do—do you know him?”
“No; but I have heard of him,” he replied. “Who has not? He is the uncle of Lord Cecil Neville;” and he watched her closely.
Her face flushed for an instant, then grew pale again.
“Yes,” she said, simply. “And will you come with me to see him? He is very ill, worse than he thinks, and—and nearer death than he would believe.”
“I will come with you if you wish it,” he said. “I will do anything you wish, now and always, Doris.”
“Well, I do wish it. I don’t know why,” she said, with a smile that was rather troubled, “but I do wish it.”
“Then we will go,” he said, as a matter of course. “And now I’ll go and make myself presentable.”
With his change of clothes he seemed to have got rid of the gravity and melancholy which Lady Despard had remarked upon; and that evening he was the Percy Levant of old, causing Lady Despard to laugh until she declared that she was tired, and bringing a smile even to Doris’ quietly brooding face.
Once or twice Lady Despard referred to the now rapidly-approaching marriage day, but when she did so he evaded the subject and changed it, as if it were too close to his heart to be spoken of lightly.
“After all, dear,” said Lady Despard, as she came into Doris’ dressing-room for a few minutes’ chat before going to bed, “I don’t know that you could have done better. He loves you to distraction, and he’s awfully clever and light-hearted. You’ll never know what it is to be bored for a single moment,” and her ladyship, recalling the many wearisome hours she had endured in the society of her dear departed, sighed; “and he is really the handsomest man I have ever met. Yes, I don’t know, dear, that you haven’t done wisely in choosing him. But I wish he had some money and a title. I have a fancy that you ought to be called ‘my lady.’ There is something about you—a certain dignity——”