"It can't be," said Sylvia. "Mr. Baker was here yesterday, and Mr. De Quincy on Tuesday, and Captain Vavasour's coming to-morrow."
"Lady Jane Trevithick," announced Bridget, flinging the door open.
"Oh, dear!" muttered Sylvia; "and it's one of Bridget's bad days when she won't wear an apron. Now, where has the woman dropped from?"
Lady Jane swept across the room magnificent in purple and sables.
"How do you do?" said Mr. Graydon, going to meet her. "This is a pleasure. My daughter, Lady Jane. My friend, Glengall. No, don't sit there. There's a dog in that chair."
For a self-possessed woman Lady Jane looked a little flurried. Without meeting her host's gaze, she took the chair he handed her, and turned it so that she sat with her back to the light. She bowed in answer to his introductions, and, having seated herself, spoke in a voice which she tried hard to keep under control.
"I find myself unexpectedly almost a neighbour of yours, Mr. Graydon, and I did myself the pleasure of calling."
"You are very good, Lady Jane."
He looked at her with kindly scrutiny. Perhaps he was trying to find in the middle-aged face the features of the proud and stately girl who had married his dearest friend years ago. If so, the darkness in which she sat baffled him.
"I am staying with Mr. Verschoyle," she went on; "I suppose you count him a neighbour?"