She lay smiling blissfully upon them all—father—mother—Hugh—St. Quentin. “Oh, Cousin St. Quentin, if only you could get well I should be quite happy!” she said.
CHAPTER XXIII
WHAT HUGH TOLD
“Mr. Chichester to see you, my lord.”
St. Quentin and Sydney looked up; the latter with a quick flush, which made her prettier than ever, her cousin thought.
She was reading the paper to him, with a praiseworthy effort, hitherto not crowned with much success, to feel a keen interest in the “Imperial Parliament.”
“Oh—Hugh,” St. Quentin said, with a glance at Sydney. “I suppose he has run down to see Lorry. Ask him to come in, John.”
Hugh was looking rather excited, and his voice could not repress a certain eagerness, as he took the hand the marquess held out. St. Quentin could not help liking the look of the clean-cut, honest young face, with straightforwardness and self-control in every line of it.
“It’s a frightful pity he hasn’t ten thousand a year,” the marquess thought to himself, watching the way Sydney’s eyes shone as she greeted the young man. “If he had anything respectable in the way of an income, he should have the child, upon my word he should! But a young doctor with no special prospects!” and he shook his head.