“Yes, Evie, and one of the best that ever lived. I will introduce her to you some day. She knows you well by hearsay, for I have often spoken of you to her. But a favour, dear old Evie; don’t ever mention her to any one; promise me.”
“Of course not, Hector. You know the simplest wish of yours is law to me. Well, here we are; we’ll finish our chat inside over some soup and oysters, and anything else you like to have.”
The duke’s hand is on the bell, but he pulls it very softly.
“Won’t do to peal it,” he remarks. “The sound would awaken Bernie, he’s such a light sleeper; and always will get up to welcome me if he awakes, dear little chap.”
“Let’s see, how old is he now?” queries Hector D’Estrange; “well nigh sixteen, is he not? He’s a dear lad, and I like him especially on account of his love for you. He does love you, Evie.”
“Yes,” answers the duke softly, “and I love him. Bernie is all I have got to love, unless it be you, Hector.”
He does not see the bright flush that rises to Hector D’Estrange’s beautiful face, or the passionate look in the sapphire eyes. It might have startled him if he had. But the great massive doors are unclosing now, and he enters, followed by his friend.
“Supper in my study, Repton, please,” he exclaims. “Is Lord Bernard asleep?”
“Fast, your Grace,” answers that individual confidentially. “His lordship wanted to sit up for your Grace, but when I gave him your Grace’s message he went straight to bed.”
“That’s right,” says the duke heartily. “Bernie’s a good lad. God bless him!”