THE PURSUIT CONTINUES
rack House in a tragic silence mocked by the high jubilant notes of the coach horn which the groom was winding to announce their approach.
Doris got down swiftly, summoning her courage to be silent and wait. In the drawing-room when the news was told, Constance Joyliffe added another note of gloom.
“We’re going to be a lively party,” said Lady Heathcote bitterly. “Thank the Lord, John Rizzio is coming.”
“Rizzio!”
Doris flashed around, her terror written so plainly that anyone might read.
“Yes. I had his wire at Innerwick when I was waiting for you.” And then catching the girl by the arm, “Why, dear, what is the matter?”
“I—I think I’ll go up to my room if you don’t mind, Betty. I won’t have any luncheon. A cup of tea is all.” She moved toward the door, her hand in Lady Heathcote’s. “And Betty—the package, please—I—I think it may soothe me to smoke.”
Betty examined her quizzically but made no comment, though she couldn’t understand such a strange proceeding in a girl who was accustomed to do exactly as she pleased. She got the package from her desk in the library and handed Doris the silk stockings, tobacco, and the yellow packet. The wrapping paper which had been soiled had been relegated to the scrap-basket.
“And Betty” pleaded Doris as she quickly took them, “promise me that you won’t tell John Rizzio.”
Lady Heathcote glanced at her quickly and then laughed.
“I suppose I’m the least curious woman in Scot-
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