It is not given to every one to meet in one day the two most beautiful women he had ever seen, but this was Lord Cecil’s fate. The lady was young, with a fair and perfectly-tinted face, with dark-brown eyes, and hair that shone like raw silk under the mellow light that fell from the candelabra above.
Her presence was so unexpected that Lord Cecil might be pardoned for expressing in his gaze something of the surprise he felt.
The sound of the marquis’ voice, low and yet clear, like the sound of a treble-bell, recalled him to himself and his manners.
“This is Lord Cecil Neville, Lady Grace,” he said, and he just moved his snowy hand. “Cecil, I think I told you that I expected Lady Grace?”
Lord Cecil bowed, and the lady inclined her head with a smile.
“As we are strangers, and Lord Neville has probably never heard of me, marquis, perhaps you had better add that I am Lord Peyton’s daughter.”
The marquis bowed.
“Of course I have heard of you, Lady Grace,” said Lord Cecil.
The dark-brown eyes opposite him grew rather keen as they rested on his face, but for a moment only, then she smiled again.
“If I had known that you were here——” He stopped and laughed. “Well, I was going to say that I’d have been home earlier, but the fact is I met with a slight accident and was detained.”