The urbane nobleman was delighted at the rencontre with Doctor Charley, but he was decidedly stiff with Cecil, who in his preoccupation did not observe the coolness.
“Everybody is out of town,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in the chill November air. “I brought Madelon up from the country this morning for a few days’ shopping. You will come and dine with us this evening?”
Cecil was about to decline, but his brother hastily accepted. When they had parted from Lord Westerley he said:
“Perhaps Lady Westerley can find out where Florine is staying.”
Somehow Cecil got a good chance to confide all his painful story to the beautiful lady who had been his wife’s dearest friend. She listened to him with emotion. The tears even fell from her beautiful eyes.
“But these are tears of joy,” she said, pensively. “I am so glad that the martyrdom of that dear girl is over, and that you had some cause for your apparent heartlessness. Florine Dabol, yes, I can tell you where she is!”
“Oh, Lady Westerley.”
She smiled at the interruption, but continued:
“She is down in the country at The Oaks, our ancestral home. You are aware, Mr. Laurens, that my father and mother both are dead, and that Sir Edward’s grandson has come into the title and estates. Well, Florine is maid to the heir’s mother, my beautiful niece, Ernestine Trueheart.”