Doris’ brows came together, and she shook her head gently. She knew that Jeffrey’s welcome to a stranger would be a rough one.
“I will send it,” she said. “I think I know—the Towers, you said, did you not?”
A sudden inspiration seized him, and, bending forward, he said, in a low voice:
“If you should walk in the fields to-morrow morning—you may, you know!—lay it on the bank where you sat yesterday. Will you do this, Miss Marlowe? I will fetch it in the afternoon.”
The beautiful eyes dwelt upon his face with a deep gravity for a moment, as if she were wondering what his object could be in making the request; then she said, gently:
“Yes, why should I not?” as she held out her hand; “good-night.”
“Thanks, thanks!” he said, in his deep, musical voice. “Good-night! You should be happy to-night, for you have made so many people miserably so! I shall dream of Juliet all night!”
She let her hand rest in his for a moment, then drew it away and he was gone.
But at that moment it chanced that a handsomely-appointed carriage came round the bend of the road, and a lady, with softly-shimmering hair and darkly-brilliant eyes, who was leaning back in a corner of it, suddenly caught sight of the fly and the stalwart figure standing beside it.
She bent forward eagerly, and her keen eyes took in, as the carriage rolled past, not only the expression of Cecil Neville’s face, but the face of the girl in the fly.