She stared at him, then laughed, a cold laugh of amusement, almost of mockery.
“Really, you are the most forgiving of men, Cecil!”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, stifling a sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t go with you, Grace.”
“Oh, I dare say you will be happier with the marquis!” she retorted, as she turned to the glass to arrange her riding hat. “I only hope and trust that the marquis will soon get better, and allow us to leave this place. I was never in a duller hole in my life.”
“They call Pescia pretty, too,” he replied, absently, as he followed her out and helped her to mount.
Then he lit a cigar, and was going across to the villa, his mind heavy with thought, when suddenly Percy Levant stopped in front of him and raised his hat.
Cecil’s face reddened for an instant; then, as he responded to the greeting, he said:
“I had expected to see you before this, Mr. Levant. Will you walk upstairs?”
Percy Levant declined the offer.
“What I have to say will take but a few minutes,” he said, gravely. “We neither of us desire a prolonged interview.”