Читать книгу Sydney Lisle, the Heiress of St. Quentin онлайн

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“Ah, there you are!” cried a gay voice, as Sydney, blinking in the lamp-light, was led by Mr. Fenton into the great hall of St. Quentin Castle.

She felt a butterfly kiss on her forehead, and then the speaker, a tall, beautifully-dressed lady, went on talking to Mr. Fenton.

“What abominable weather! St. Quentin hardly thought you would bring the child, and has been abominably fidgety all day in consequence. You must both be frozen! Come to the fire!”

A splendid fire of logs was burning at the farther end of the hall, which was divided off by tapestry from the entrance. She led the way towards it, talking volubly the whole time; so it was not till they were standing by the cheerful blaze, and Lady Frederica had stopped speaking for a moment to look at Sydney, that Mr. Fenton had the opportunity of getting in a word. “How is Lord St. Quentin?”

“Oh, much the same, I think,” she answered carelessly. “He is up to-day—I suppose he wanted to see Sydney. Dickson seemed to think he wasn’t quite so well. Dickson is St. Quentin’s man, my dear,” she added, turning to Sydney; “a most invaluable creature. I really don’t know what we should do without him, for St. Quentin won’t have a trained nurse. So faddy, but he doesn’t like them. But Dickson is really quite admirable with him, and doesn’t mind his temper—so fortunate—and can read to him, and do all the things which otherwise perhaps might be expected of me. Yes, you are like the family—their eyes, hasn’t she, Mr. Fenton? But you haven’t much of a colour, child!”