"You must send it, my lord," she said swiftly. "There is no need to say anything about all this."
He frowned in a second.
"Do you mean to dictate to me, my good girl?" he asked fiercely. "You'd better leave the business in my hands. I'll settle it to my own satisfaction. Come back at six o'clock and you shall be made acquainted with my decision."
He rang the hand-bell on the table beside him and when Dewar entered, said carelessly:
"Show the young woman out; and, Dewar, tell Penelope to come and see me at two o'clock. And, Dewar, send a message to the Manse and tell that jackanapes of a parson Bryce that I want to confess my sins or something of that sort. Tell him I'm ill--dying, if you like--anything--and I want him as soon as he can come. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," replied Dewar discreetly, though he was considerably mystified; but everyone in the castle knew there was but one way of receiving Lord Drummuir's orders, acquiescence and obedience.
[CHAPTER XI]
An hour or so afterwards Fantine Le Grand coming in from a ramble on the rocks, whither she had gone despite her pretended headache, in order to quiet her nerves for what she foresaw was to be a stand-up fight between her and Marrion, found old Lord Drummuir in possession of her boudoir. He was in his wheeled-chair, but was looking remarkably spruce in a blue coat with brass buttons, an immaculate white stock and frill, and his gouty foot was swathed in kersey to match the breeches he wore. His ruddy face was all smiles, but there was a vicious look in the blue eyes that reminded her of a horse about to kick.
And kick he did with a force that left her breathless.
"I've come to tell you," he said, "that we are going to be married this evening."