"That's right," he said, quickly; "if you've forgotten you have forgiven. I assure you——"
"Dinner is served, my lord," said a solemn voice.
He turned sharply.
"Confound it all——"
"Whether I have forgiven you is not of the least consequence, my lord," said Margaret, "but the earl will certainly not forgive you if you keep dinner waiting any longer," and she bent over her canvas with an air of absorption which shut him out of her cognizance completely.
He stood for a minute, then with an audible "Confound the dinner!" strode off.
[CHAPTER V.]
Margaret did not raise her head from her work as Lord Blair Leyton moved reluctantly and impatiently down the gallery, but when the echo of his footsteps had died away she looked up with a slightly startled and altogether strange expression.
To her astonishment and disgust, the hand which held her brush was trembling. It was impossible to work any longer. Guido's head danced before her sight, and the other head—the handsome one of Blair Leyton—came between her and the painted one.