Then he hurried towards his visitor, who had closed the door and stood leaning against it.
"You have come," he exclaimed; "so kind of you—excuse the disorder here—I did not know it was so late."
He held out his hand with a smile, but she turned away with a gesture of abhorrence which had no effect upon him save that it deepened the smile to an ugly sneer.
She threw back the long veil and displayed her face—the visitor was Elizabeth Mellen.
"Pray be seated," he went on, placing a chair near the hearth; "this room looks dreadful, but I was up late and overslept myself—had I dreamed you would favor me with so early a visit, I should have been prepared."
She glanced at the table, which bore evidence of the manner in which the night had been passed, and said abruptly, pointing towards the cards scattered on the carpet:
"Did those things keep you wakeful?"
He smiled complacently.
"Nothing ever escapes your eye, dear lady. Well, I won't deny the fact—we were playing cards a little. I was not absolutely fortunate," he answered, with another disagreeable smile; "but you know the old proverb—'Lucky in love, unlucky at cards,' so I never expect much from the mischievous paste-boards."
Her face flushed painfully to the very waves of her hair, then grew whiter than before; she sank to a seat from positive inability to stand.