For an instant the warm blood rushed to Lady Grace’s face; then, as she sank back again into her corner, she laughed, a laugh of cold, insolent contempt.
“Some actress or shop-girl,” she murmured. Then her expression changed, and she bit her lip thoughtfully. “And yet he looked terribly in earnest!” she added. “Shall I take him up?” and her hand went out to the check-string; then she let it fall, and the carriage go on its way. “No; I think I’ll keep my little discovery to myself—it may be useful—and let you walk home, Lord Cecil!”
CHAPTER VII.
A RARE DIAMOND.
When Doris came down from her room the next morning, it did not seem as if the tremendous excitement of the preceding night had left any baleful effects. In her soft-white dress, she still looked more like a schoolgirl home for the holidays than the tragedienne who had, a few hours ago, moved a vast audience to tears and wild enthusiasm.
She came into the room singing, just as the birds sang under the eaves by her window, and laughed lightly as she saw Jeffrey bending earnestly over a copy of the local daily paper.
“Well, have I got a tremendous slating, Jeffrey?” she said, almost carelessly.
“Slating!” he replied. “If anything, it is too laudatory; read it!” and he held it out to her.
“After breakfast; I am so hungry,” she said, contentedly. “Read it to me, Jeffrey; all the nicest paragraphs,” and she laughed again.
He glanced at Doris under his heavy brows.