And went.
The footman passed him in the hall; he had a card upon his silver salver, and was seeking his mistress in the library. But when he entered there the room was empty. Mrs. Rosscott had slipped through the blue velvet portières, expecting to see a friend, and had stopped short on the other side, amazed at finding herself face to face with an utter stranger.
“I gave the man my card,” said the stranger, in a tone as faded as his mustache. He was a long, thin man, but what the Germans style “sehr korrect.”
“I didn’t wait to get it,” the hostess said. “I supposed that, of course, it was somebody that I knew.”
“That was natural,” he admitted.
There was a slight pause of awkwardness.
“Won’t you sit down?” she asked.
“Certainly,” said the caller, and sat down.
Then she sat down, too, and another awkward pause ensued.
“You didn’t expect to see me, did you?” said the stranger, smiling.