The young man at the door, who had known Riatt before, appeared confused, but was decided.
Miss Fenimer, he insisted, was out.
Glancing past him Riatt saw a hat and stick on the hall table. He had no doubt as to their owner.
“I’ll wait then,” he said, coming in, and handing his own things to the footman, who seemed more embarrassed still.
Taking pity on him, Riatt said:
“You mean Miss Fenimer is at home, but has given orders that she won’t see any one?”
Such, the man admitted, was the case.
“She’ll see me,” Riatt answered, “take my name up.”
The footman, looking still more wretched, obeyed. Riatt heard him go into the little drawing-room overhead, and then there was a long pause. Once he thought he heard a voice raised in anger. As may be imagined his own anger was not appeased by this reception.
While he was waiting, the door of a room next the front door opened and Mr. Fenimer came out. His astonishment at seeing Riatt was so great that with all his tact he could not repress an exclamation, which somehow did not express pleasure.