“I shall hang it up in my boudoir at Durlston,” she said, when she had expressed her admiration of the portrait, “next to the one you painted of Bobbie as a baby. Heigho, how time flies! I feel dreadfully old to-day—because it is my birthday, I suppose.”
“One is never old whilst the heart is young,” he answered, with a swift glance from his deep eyes. He was just thinking how delightfully fresh and young she looked.
Lady Marjorie met his eyes and blushed. Then she sat down at a small table and, unfolding a daily paper, glanced through the morning’s news.
“Are you tired of the shooting?” she inquired presently. “I was quite surprised when Bobbie informed me that you were still indoors.”
“I am afraid there will be no more shooting for me this year,” he replied regretfully, taking up a time-table which had recently occupied his attention. “I have just packed my traps previous to taking my departure. This morning’s post brought me two letters containing news which makes it necessary for me to go to Brighton immediately. I am more sorry than I can say to have to bring this enjoyable visit to such an abrupt termination.”
Lady Marjorie’s face fell perceptibly. “Then you are going away!” she exclaimed in dismay. “You have not received bad news, I hope?”
“Well, that depends on how one looks at it,” he answered, noting her crestfallen expression with a vague pang of self-reproach. “Celia’s visit to Woodruffe has cost her dear; it has probably been the means of making her lose her entire fortune.”
Lady Marjorie gave vent to an ejaculation of amazement.
“How could that possibly be?” she asked, her eyes distended in surprise. The announcement almost took her breath away.
“She has decided to become a Christian,” he replied, as if apprising her of some calamity. “And by doing so, according to the terms of her father’s will, forfeits all claim to his wealth, which will go to build a Jewish hospital in South Africa.”