How very far from guessing she had been that this, the young man she had called a savage, was the earl's nephew, Lord Blair Leyton!
What must he think of her? And yet he had taken her for a guest of the house, had asked her if she were not going in to dinner with him!
She sat, paint brush in hand, and stared musingly at the curtained doorway through which he had gone, and thought of him.
It is a dangerous thing for a young, impressionable girl to think of a young man. But how could she help it? Her grandmother's words were ringing in her ears; according to Mrs. Hale, nothing was too bad to be said of poor Blair Leyton. He was the wickedest of the wicked, bad beyond all description. And yet—and yet! How bravely he had fought a stronger and bigger man than himself on behalf of a helpless dog!
She pondered over this question for half an hour, looking dreamily in the direction he had gone, then, without having arrived at any answer to it, she jumped up and, putting her painting materials together, left the gallery.
"Grandma," she said, as she entered the room in which the old lady was seated, placidly knitting, for the dinner was in full swing, and Mrs. Hale's anxiety was over, "grandma, I have seen Lord Leyton."
The old lady almost jumped.
"Seen Lord Leyton, Madge?"
Margaret nodded.
"Yes; he came into the gallery——"