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

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“You had a cold journey?”

“Not very cold,” said Sydney shyly.

There was a pause. St. Quentin was frowning. Sydney felt that she ought to originate a subject in her turn.

“I hope you are better to-day, Lord St. Quentin?” she got out with an effort.

Lord St. Quentin stopped frowning, in surprise.

“Thanks, I’m all right,” he said shortly; then added with half a smile, “Drop the ‘Lord,’ please—we are cousins!”

“Well, Sydney, so you and St. Quentin have made acquaintance already?” Lady Frederica exclaimed, coming down the stairs as the gong began to sound with a roar like distant thunder. “How clever of you to find each other out! How are you now, my dear boy? Dickson told me you were ‘rather low’: how I hate that expression in the mouth of servants! It always means ill-tempered. Now, my maid can never say I’m ‘low,’ at all events. I make a point of never giving way to low spirits. Ah, Mr. Fenton,” as the old lawyer came into the circle of fire-light, “here you are!—punctual as usual! I have just been telling St. Quentin he shouldn’t give way to low spirits; a mistake, isn’t it? I suppose you will dine in the library, St. Quentin? Shall we see you again to-night?”