“Shall I?” he was saying to himself as he lay back with a smile, when a voice beside him made him look up. It was that of the son of the house, a friend of his own; the young man seemed annoyed and perplexed.
“Norreys! oh, do me a good turn, will you? I have to look after the lady who has just been singing, and my mother is fussing about a girl who has been sitting all the evening alone. She’s a stranger. Will you be so awfully good as to take her down for an ice or something?”
Despard looked round. He could scarcely refuse a request so couched, but he was far from pleased.
“Where is she? Who is she?” he asked, beginning languidly to show signs of moving.
“There—over by the window—that girl in black,” his friend replied. “Who she is I can’t say. My mother told me her name was Ford. Come along, and I’ll introduce you, that’s a good fellow.”
Despard by this time had risen to his feet.
“Upon my soul!” he ejaculated.
But Mr Leslie was in too great a hurry to notice the unusual emphasis with which he spoke.
And in half a second he found himself standing in front of the girl, who, the last time they met, had aroused in him such unwonted emotions.
“Miss Ford,” murmured young Leslie, “may I introduce Mr Norreys?” and then Mr Leslie turned on his heel and disappeared.