"Oh!"
She laid her hand on her heart with a cry, and a pallor over-spread her face.
"It is cruel to talk like that," she said hurriedly; "you don't think he looks ill, do you? He's such a strong child. There's no chance of his dying. Oh, Eustace, you don't think that, do you?"
"No! no! of course I don't," he replied, soothingly. "Don't get these foolish fancies into your head. Sammy will live to be a great trouble to you I've no doubt."
"He'll never be that," answered Lady Errington, recovering herself. "Ah! there's the gong."
"Dinner is served, my lady," announced a servant at the door, and taking Gartney's arm, she went with him into the dining-room.
It was "Alizon" and "Eustace" with them now, for after all, they were cousins, if only by marriage, and it was so disagreeable to constantly use the formality of titles. Still, there was always that indefinable barrier between them, which kept Eustace within the limits of kindly friendship, and on her part, Alizon never forgot her dignity as a married woman.
"It's very kind of you, Alizon, to take pity on a poor hermit," said Gartney, towards the end of the meal, "but I don't know what the county will say at this tête-à-tête dinner."
"The county can hardly complain, seeing we are cousins."
"By marriage."