"I know he intended to do so if Tom failed me. But Tom is my brother."
"Well, well, child; settle it amongst yourselves. I don't see that it matters one way or the other. There's a knock at the door! Dear me! It must be Lord Level."
"Lord Level cannot be back again before to-morrow. He is at Marshdale, you know," dissented Blanche. "I think it may be Tom. I hope it is Tom. He says here he shall be in town as soon as his letter."
"Mr. Strange," announced a servant, throwing wide the drawing-room door.
Charles Strange had only that morning returned from Paris, having crossed by the night mail. The legal business on which he and Mr. Brightman were just now so much occupied, involving serious matters for a client who lived in Paris, had kept Charles over there nearly all the spring. Blanche ran to his arms. She looked upon him as her brother, quite as much as she looked upon Tom.
"And so, Blanche, we are to lose you," he said, when he had kissed her. "And within a day or two, I hear."
He knew very little of Blanche Heriot's approaching marriage, except that the bridegroom was Archibald, Lord Level. And that little he had heard from Mr. Brightman. Blanche did not write to him about it. She had written to tell him she was going to be married to Captain Cross: but when that marriage was summarily broken off by Major Carlen, Blanche felt a little ashamed, and did not send word to Charles.
"The day after to-morrow, at eleven o'clock in the morning," put in Mrs. Guy, in response to the last remark.
All his attention given to Blanche, Charles Strange really had not observed the old lady. He turned to regard her.
"You cannot have forgotten Mrs. Guy, Charles," said Blanche, noticing his doubtful look.