This was the longest speech she had made that day. Lord Carthew listened to it, trying in vain to catch the sweet cadences of the voice which he had loved so well. In some way, for which he was at a loss to account, the soul seemed to have gone out of the girl beside him, leaving only the beautiful body behind it.
He tried to think that she was nervous in her new position, and hoped that time and companionship would bring back that frank confidence which had so much delighted him. But meantime he also relapsed into silence, which was hardly broken until they reached the railway station at Grayling.
Here they were met by Lord Carthew’s valet, and Lady Northborough’s maid, lent by the Countess to her daughter-in-law for the honeymoon on account of her exceptional tact and cleverness. Lady Carthew’s bright eyes, glancing about beyond these persons, sought for Stephen Lee, and perceived him at length by the third-class portion of the train.
Dispatching Lord Carthew for a book, she beckoned to Stephen, who, flushed and confused, came at her bidding.
“I shall take you on as my groom,” she said. “You shall leave the Chase, and enter my service.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“We’re a bit late for the train, and can’t talk here,” she said, her restless eyes roving about the platform. “When the train stops at Peterstone, come to my carriage.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Stephen retired as Lord Carthew returned, book in hand, and assisted his bride into a luxurious saloon which he had reserved for their use on the journey.
“Was not that the keeper who shot poor Hilary I saw you speaking to just now?” he asked, carelessly, as the train began to start, while he was still arranging on the table the baskets of flowers which had been prepared by the station-master as a compliment to Sir Philip’s daughter.