"I had hoped to find you here, Lady Estelle," he said. "I have waited your return. I am going over to Hyndlow this morning, and you said that you wished me to take something to Lady Eleanor."
"Yes," she replied; "I will attend to it. I shall see you before you go."
She dismissed him with a queenly bow, and he went, never once looking at Doris, but her eyes lingered on him till he was out of sight; then she looked at Lady Estelle, and they seemed to reproach the duke's daughter that she had not considered her worthy of an introduction.
Lady Estelle perfectly understood the mute reproach, but would not notice it.
"I am sorry," she said, languidly, "that the duchess is so busily engaged this morning. She has asked me to say that she wishes you well in the new life opening to you."
"It is time to go," thought Doris. Her quick tact seemed to be almost a sixth sense. She thanked Lady Estelle for her kindness, and Lady Estelle did what was very unusual for her—held out her hand.
"Good-bye!" she said, with a faint, sad smile. "You will remember our little argument, and always bear in mind that the greatest of earthy blessings is love."
"I shall remember that you have said so," laughed Doris, wondering why the cold, jeweled hand held hers so tightly.
"If I never see you again," said the languid, caressing voice, "I shall not forget you, and I wish you well."
There was something so strange in the lady's face and manner that Doris was half startled.