He had helped Leycester in many a mad freak, had stood in with him in many a wild adventure, which had cost them much after trouble and no small amount of money, but Lord Charles had a shrewd suspicion that this which he was asked to assist in was the climax of all that had gone before. But he felt that he must do it. As we have said, there were times when words were of as little use as chaff with Leycester, and this was one of them.
Ruefully, but unshaken in his devotion, he went up-stairs for his hat and stick, and sauntered down, still wishing that he could have been in Peru.
"There will be a terrible storm," he muttered. "His people will cut up rough, and I shall, of course, bear some portion of the blame; but I don't mind that! It is Ley I am thinking of! Will it turn out all right?"
He was asking himself the question dolefully and helplessly as he descended the stairs, when he became conscious of the graceful form of Lady Lenore standing in the hall and looking up at him.
She had watched Lord Leycester's departure from the window; she knew that he was going to town suddenly—knew that Lord Charles had been closeted with him, and now only needed to glance at Lord Charles' rueful face to be convinced that something had happened. But there was nothing of this in her smile as she looked up at him, gently fluttering a Japanese fan, and holding back the trailing skirts with her white, bejeweled fingers.
Lord Charles started as he saw her.
"By Jove!" he murmured, "if it is as I think, what will she do?" and with an instinctive dread he felt half inclined to turn and reascend the stairs, but Lenore was too quick for him.
"We have been looking for you, Lord Charles," she said, languidly. "Some rash individual has proposed lawn-tennis; we want you to play."
Lord Charles looked confused. The letter burnt his pocket, and he knew that he should know no peace until he got rid of it.
"Awfully sorry," he said; "going down to the post-office to post a letter."