As Doris entered she saw, or fancied she saw, that a change had taken place even in the few hours since she had last seen him; and his voice sounded to her weaker, as, raising himself on his elbow, he stretched out his hand toward her with feeble eagerness.
“Thank you, thank you, my dear!” he said, his thin, wasted fingers closing over her soft, warm ones. “This is very good of you, very! And this, who is this?”
“This is Mr. Levant,” said Doris, in a low voice.
“Mr. Levant,” he repeated, in quite a different voice. “And who is——Ah, yes, I remember. I thank you sir, for granting my request,” and he inclined his head to Percy Levant with stately courtesy. “I wished to see you, wished to see you very much. This young lady has been very kind to the old and feeble man you see before you. She has a gentle and a good heart, sir. And you are the fortunate man who has won her, it would seem.”
“I deem myself very fortunate, my lord,” said Percy Levant.
The keen, piercing eyes seemed to dart through him.
“That is the truth, if you never spoke it before,” he retorted, in his old, cynical way. “Have I had the honor of meeting you before, Mr. Levant?”
“Never that I am aware of, my lord,” said Percy Levant; “and my acquaintances are so few that I am not likely to have forgotten it.”
“Ah,” said the old man, still eying him as if he were trying to gain some glimpse of his character. “You are ready with a repartee, I observe.”
“One need be who would hope to be worthy of crossing swords with the Marquis of Stoyle.”