Being the daughter of an American millionaire who had gathered together a priceless collection of paintings and then placed them in a gallery with a magnificent roof of elaborately coloured glass, she was used to eccentricity, and to allowing a wide latitude to individual taste. She had not time to say more, for at that moment Nouna herself crossed the room to her, and joined hands before her in a humbly suppliant attitude.
“If you please, Lady Millard, I want to ask a great favour. It’s such a very great favour that George says I ought not to dream of asking it of any one I haven’t known much longer than I have known you. Now—may I ask it?”
“With the reservation that if it’s anything penal I may refuse.”
“Certainly. Well, Lady Millard, I want you to help me to cure a poor man who is suffering for want of change of air.”
“Why, of course I will, with pleasure—”
“Oh, but do you understand? I want you to invite him down to Norfolk—and while I’m there!”
Every one began to laugh except Lord Florencecourt, and the suppliant turned to glance round gravely at the mockers.
“Ah, but I’m not in fun,” she continued undeterred. “I am interested in this poor fellow—” Again Ella was obliged to give vent to an irrepressible little titter. “And I know that he ought to go out of town, and he won’t unless he gets an invitation where he feels sure that he will enjoy himself.” Unmindful of renewed signs of amusement, she ended: “His own people are clergymen and great-aunts and other things like that, so of course he will not go to them.”
Lady Millard drew her down on to the ottoman beside her, repressing her own inclination to laugh.
“And what is the name of the interesting young invalid?”