"Good morning, Miss Leslie," he said, peering up at her. "It is a fine morning, isn't it." Then he paused and scanned her face curiously and earnestly. "Is anything the matter?"
"The matter?" she repeated with a laugh that sounded in her ears hollow and unnatural. "What should be the matter? I have brought you my father's receipt and a note, Mr. Temple."
He took it and glanced at it.
"Humph," he said. "Oh, yes, I'll do anything your father wishes. And there is nothing the matter, Miss Leslie?" and he peered up at her curiously from under his thick brows.
"Nothing, nothing," she responded feverishly. "But I wanted to ask you—the duke, the Duke of Rothbury——."
His pale face flushed, and he motioned to Grey to withdraw out of hearing.
"I thought so!" he said. "Miss Leslie, sick men, like me, acquire a kind of second sight. Directly I saw you just now, I knew that you had learnt the truth."
She looked down at him, and her face, which had been flushed feverishly, paled.
"The truth?" she faltered.
"Yes," he said in a tone that suggested remorse. "You have been cruelly deceived!"