"Do what you can for him," she said softly. "He was once a great friend of mine. He was different then! Will you go out to him now? I promised to send you."
Guest was sitting upon the terrace, exactly as I had left him. His eyes were fixed upon vacancy, his lips were slightly curled in a meditative smile. There was a distinct change in his appearance. His expression was more peaceful, the slight restlessness had disappeared from his manner. But he had never looked to me more like a dying man.
"Lady Dennisford sent me out," I remarked, "She has ordered a pony-cart to take us home."
He nodded.
"I am quite ready," he said.
He tried to rise, but the effort seemed too much for him. I hastened to his aid, or I think that he would have fallen. He leaned on my arm heavily as we passed on our way to the avenue, where a carriage was already awaiting us.
"I was once," he remarked, in an ordinary conversational tone, "engaged to be married to Lady Dennisford."
"There was no—disagreement between you?" I asked.
"None that has not been healed," he answered softly.
"You would consider her to-day as a friend—not a likely enemy?" I asked.