“No, really? Ah, I am so glad! It is so nice to see relations living together in harmony——”
“But we don’t live in harmony!” broke in Neville, in his impetuous fashion. “We have only met once or twice and have nearly quarreled on each occasion.”
“Oh, come, I don’t think the dear marquis could quarrel with you, his nephew.”
“No, you’re right,” said Neville, with a rather grim laugh. “The dear marquis doesn’t quarrel, he’s too highly polished to do anything so vulgar; he only carries on until one is driven half mad by the longing to pitch him out of the window——”
“My dear Neville! Always the same wild recklessness. Pitch the marquis out of the window!” and Spenser Churchill laughed—a kind of dove-like coo. “Now, that is strange! I always find the marquis so delightfully charming——”
“But so you do everybody,” retorted Lord Neville, laughing.
“Well, most people are, aren’t they?” said Spenser Churchill, blandly.
“I don’t know,” replied Lord Neville. “I’m afraid I must be getting back. I’m due at lunch.” He pulled out his watch, but instead of looking at it, glanced in the direction Doris had taken.
“Looking for any one?” inquired Spenser, softly.
Lord Neville started rather impatiently.