“George could quite well have waited for a day or two,” Lady Ranscomb declared. “I went out to see the Muirs, at Forteviot, and when I got back he told me he had just had a telegram telling him that it was imperative he should be in town to-morrow morning. I tried to persuade him to stay, but he declared it to be impossible.”
“An appointment with a lady, perhaps,” laughed Dorise mischievously.
“What next, my dear! You know he is over head and ears in love with you!”
“Oh! That’s quite enough, mother. You’ve told me that lots of times before. But I tell you quite frankly his love leaves me quite cold.”
“Ah! dear. That reply is, after all, but natural. You, of course, won’t confess the truth,” her mother laughed.
“I do, mother. I’m heartily glad the fellow has gone. I hate his supercilious manner, his superior tone, and his unctuous bearing. He’s simply odious! That’s my opinion.”
Her mother looked at her severely across the table.
“Please remember, Dorise, that George is my friend.”
“I never forget that,” said the girl meaningly, as she rose and left the table.
Half an hour later, when she entered her bedroom, she found Duncan, her maid, awaiting her.