“Sit down again for a minute, dear,” urged Mrs. Blunt.
There was renewed hope for the confession. Agatha sat down. But hardly had she done so before the strangest presentiment came over her. She heard the door below open and shut, and it was borne in upon her mind that two men had entered. How she guessed it, she could not tell, but, as she sat there, she had no doubt at all that Charlie Merceron had come with Calder Went worth. Escape was impossible, but she walked across to the window and stood there, with her back to the door.
“Mr. Wentworth!” she heard, and then, cutting the servant short, came Calder’s voice.
“I took the liberty—-” he began: and she did not know how he went on, for her head was swimming.
“Agatha! Agatha, dear!” called Mrs. Blunt.
Perforce she turned, passing her hand quickly across her brow. Yes! It was so. There he stood by Calder’s side, and Calder was saying, “My dear Agatha, this is Charlie Merceron.”
She would not look at Charlie. She moved slowly forward, her eyes fixed on Calder, and bowed with a little set smile. Luckily people pay slight attention to one another’s expressions on social occasions, or they must all have noticed her agitation. As it was, only Calder Wentworth looked curiously at her before he turned aside to shake hands with Uncle Van.
Then she felt Charlie Merceron coining nearer, and, a second later, she heard his voice.
“Is it possible that it’s you?” he asked, in a low tone.
Then she looked at him. His face was pale and his eyes eagerly straining to read what might be in hers.