“That I do not know; but talking of you the was, and she said she was coming back here no more. Perhaps you will be afraid to stay here alone?”
“Oh no, I am used to being alone,” she said, with a little sigh, “but where”—hesitating and blushing vividly, “where is—I mean, I should like to thank sir Norman Kingsley.”
Ormiston saw the blush and the eyes that dropped, and it puzzled him again beyond measure.
“Do you know Sir Norman Kingsley?” he suspiciously asked.
“By sight I know many of the nobles of the court,” she answered evasively, and without looking up: “they pass here often, and Prudence knows them all; and so I have learned to distinguish them by name and sight, your friend among the rest.”
“And you would like to see my friend?” he said, with malicious emphasis.
“I would like to thank him,” retorted the lady, with some asperity: “you have told me how much I owe him, and it strikes me the desire is somewhat natural.”
“Without doubt it is, and it will save Sir Norman much fruitless labor; for even now he is in search of you, and will neither rest nor sleep until he finds you.”
“In search of me!” she said softly, and with that rosy glow again illumining her beautiful face; “he is indeed kind, and I am most anxious to thank him.”
“I will bring him here in two hours, then,” said Ormiston, with energy; “and though the hour may be a little unseasonable, I hope you will not object to it; for if you do, he will certainly not survive until morning.”