"Unfortunately, I can't type."
At the sound of the young and musical voice, the gentleman with the
Dundreary whiskers--Sir Luke Malford--who had seemed half asleep, turned
sharply to look at the speaker. Doris too was in a white dress, of the
simplest stuff and make; but it became her. So did the straw hat, with
its wreath of wild roses, which she had trimmed herself that morning.
There was not the slightest visible sign of tremor in the young woman;
and Sir Luke's inner mind applauded her.
"No fool!--and a lady," he thought. "Let's see what Rachel will make of
her."
"Then you don't help him in the writing?" said Lady Dunstable, still
with the same detached air. Doris laughed.
"I don't know what Arthur would say if I proposed it. He never lets
anybody go near him when he's writing."
"I see; like all geniuses, he's dangerous on the loose." Was Lady
Dunstable's smile just touched with sarcasm? "Well!--has the success of
the lectures surprised you?"
Doris pondered.
"No," she said at last, "not really.
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