The manservant, with his plain black clothes and black tie, had
entered the room with a deferential little gesture.
"You will pardon me, sir," he said in a subdued tone, "but I think
that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. There is Lady
Arlingford's reception to-night, ten till twelve, and the Hatton House
ball, marked with a cross, sir, important. I put your clothes out an
hour ago."
Nigel Ennison looked up with a little start.
"All right, Dunster," he said. "I may go to Hatton House later, but
you needn't wait. I can get into my clothes."
The man hesitated.
"Can I bring you anything, sir--a whisky and soda, or a liqueur?
You'll excuse me, sir, but you haven't touched your coffee."
"Bring me a whisky and soda, and a box of cigarettes," Ennison
answered, "and then leave me alone, there's a good fellow. I'm a
little tired."
The man obeyed his orders noiselessly and then left the room.
Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his
whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette.
"What a fool I am!" he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and
leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. "And yet I wonder
whether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex. Paris
looms behind--a tragedy of strange recollections--here she emerges
Phoenix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful,
self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all
others beside her seem plain or vulgar. And then--this sudden thrust.
God only knows what I have done, or left undone. Something
unpardonable is laid to my charge. Only last night she saw me, and
there was horror in her eyes.... I have written, called--of what avail
is anything--against that look.... What the devil is the matter,
Dunster?"
"I beg your pardon, sir," the man answered, "there is a lady here to
see you."
Ennison turned round sharply.
"A lady, Dunster. Who is it?"
The man came a little further into the room.
"Lady Ferringhall, sir."
"Lady Ferringhall--alone?" Ennison exclaimed.
"Quite alone, sir."
Ennison was dismayed.
"For Heaven's sake, Dunster, don't let her out of the carriage, or
hansom, or whatever she came in. Say I'm out, away, anything!"
"I am sorry, sir," the man answered, "but she had sent away her hansom
before I answered the bell. She is in the hall now. I----"
The door was thrown open. Annabel entered.
"Forgive my coming in," she said to Ennison. "I heard your voices, and
the hall is draughty. What is the matter with you?"
Dunster had withdrawn discreetly. Ennison's manner was certainly not
one of a willing host.
"I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall," he
said quietly. "For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a
moment. Dunster shall fetch you a cab. I----"