“I certainly intended doing so as soon as the telegraph office was open this morning, my lady; but directly the marquis became conscious he distinctly forbade me doing so. Of course, I should not disobey him while he was sensible, and there was no immediate danger. The marquis demands implicit obedience from his household, my lady.”
“Perhaps Miss Marlowe will be able to call and see him this morning,” said Lady Despard, glancing inquiringly at Doris; but Doris grew pale, and shook her head.
“Not to-day,” she said, in a low voice, and almost pleadingly. “To-morrow—perhaps.”
The valet bowed.
“Thank you, miss,” he said, gratefully, and as he withdrew he added, respectfully, “a sight of you will do him more good than all the doctors in Italy, I am sure, miss.”
If Doris had promised to pay the sick man a visit she could not have done so, for Percy Levant, without consulting either of the ladies, ordered the phaeton and pair and calmly requested them to get their things on.
“I am going to take you ladies for a long drive,” he said, with that air of resolution which all women admire in a man. “You, Doris, because you need it for your health’s sake, and you, Lady Despard, because you are in danger of becoming a monomaniac!”
“Oh, indeed!” retorted Lady Despard, languidly; “and what’s my mania, pray?”
“Wedding millinery,” he replied, pointing to the confused mass of lace and muslin amid which Lady Despard seemed to exist.
“Well, there’s some truth in that,” she said, with a smile; “and, anyway, I suppose we shall have to go, eh, Doris? And this is the man whom we thought all milk and honey, so meek and docile as scarcely to have a will of his own!” she added, pouting. “You see what you have done, my dear; you have completely spoiled him by being foolish enough to promise to marry him!”