She asked for Lord Uredale, the eldest son, and waited in the library till he came.
He was a tall, squarely built man, with fair hair already gray, and somewhat absent and impassive manners.
At sight of him the Duchess's eyes filled with tears. She hurried to him, her soft nature dissolved in sympathy.
"How is your father?"
"A trifle easier, though the doctors say there is no real improvement. But he is quite conscious--knows us all. I have just been reading him the debate."
"You told me yesterday he had asked for Miss Le Breton," said the Duchess, raising herself on tiptoe as though to bring her low tones closer to his ear. "She's here--in town, I mean. She came back from Paris last night."
Lord Uredale showed no emotion of any kind. Emotion was not in his line.
"Then my father would like to see her," he said, in a dry, ordinary voice, which jarred upon the sentimental Duchess.
"When shall I bring her?"
"He is now comfortable and resting. If you are free--"