"
"I'm not staying over Sunday," smiled Diana.
The young man expressed his regret. "I say," he said, with a quick look
round, "you didn't think I was rude last night, did you?"
"Rude? When?"
"In not listening. I can't listen when people talk politics. I want to
drown myself. Now, if it was poetry--or something reasonable. You know
the only things worth looking at--in this beastly house"--he lowered his
voice--"are the books in that glass bookcase. It was Lady Lucy's
father--old Lord Merston--collected them. Lady Lucy never looks at them.
Marsham does, I suppose--sometimes. Do you know Marsham well?"
"I made acquaintance with him and Lady Lucy on the Riviera."
Mr. Bobbie observed her with a shrewd eye. In spite of his inattention
of the night before, the interest of Miss Mallory's appearance upon the
scene at Tallyn had not been lost upon him, any more than upon other
people. The rumor had preceded her arrival that Marsham had been very
much "smitten" with her amid the pine woods of Portofino. Marsham's
taste was good--emphatically good. At the same time it was clear that
the lady was no mere facile and commonplace girl.
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