But the Duchess ran forward, and, quite heedless of her husband, threw herself into her friend's arms.
"Oh, Julie, is there anything left of you? I hardly slept a wink for thinking of you. What did that old--oh, I forgot--do you know my husband? Freddie, this is my _great_ friend, Miss Le Breton."
The Duke bowed again, silently. Julie looked at him, and then, still holding the Duchess by the hand, she approached him, a pair of very fine and pleading eyes fixed upon his face.
"You have probably heard from Lady Henry, have you not?" she said, addressing him. "In a note I had from her this morning she told me she had written to you. I could not help coming to-day, because Evelyn has been so kind. But--is it your wish that I should come here?"
The Christian name slipped out unawares, and the Duke winced at it. The likeness to Lord Lackington--it was certainly astonishing. There ran through his mind the memory of a visit paid long ago to his early home by Lord Lackington and two daughters, Rose and Blanche. He, the Duke, had then been a boy home from school. The two girls, one five or six years older than the other, had been the life and charm of the party. He remembered hunting with Lady Rose.
But the confusion in his mind had somehow to be mastered, and he made an effort.
"I shall be glad if my wife is able to be of any assistance to you, Miss Le Breton," he said, coldly; "but it would not be honest if I were to conceal my opinion--so far as I have been able to form it--that Lady Henry has great and just cause of complaint."
"You are quite right--quite right," said Julie, almost with eagerness. "She has, indeed."
The Duke was taken by surprise. Imperious as he was, and stiffened by a good many of those petty prides which the spoiled children of the world escape so hardly, he found himself hesitating--groping for his words.
The Duchess meanwhile drew Julie impulsively towards a chair.
But Julie's gaze was still bent upon the Duke. She restrained her friend's eager hand, and the Duke collected himself. _He_ brought a chair, and Julie seated herself.
"I am deeply, deeply distressed about Lady Henry," she said, in a low voice, by which the Duke felt himself most unwillingly penetrated. "I don't--oh no, indeed, I don't defend last night. Only--my position has been very difficult lately. I wanted very much to see the Duchess--and--it was natural--wasn't it?--that the old friends should like to be personally informed about Lady Henry's illness? But, of course, they stayed too long; it was my fault--I ought to have prevented it."
