“I will see him at once,” said Lord Cecil.
“And I, too,” said Lady Grace, slipping her arm within his.
The valet led the way upstairs.
The old man was lying apparently asleep, but as Lord Cecil bent over him he opened his eyes, and after a few seconds said, in a feeble voice and with the old cynical smile:
“Oh, it’s you, Cecil, is it? And is that you, my dear?” turning his eyes in the direction of Lady Grace.
“Yes, it is I, dear marquis,” she murmured.
He started.
“Oh, Grace, is it?” he mumbled. “I thought it was she.”
“She? Who, dear marquis?” she demanded.
He smiled.