“No, I cannot be bothered. I am weary of everything, Nina.”
Then the maid stammered: “I was to tell you, my lady, that—that she came from Sir Harold Annesley.”
Lady Elaine started, her face turning deathly white. Was Sir Harold ill? Had some fresh misfortune befallen him?
“You are sure of this, Nina?” She held one hand to her throbbing heart.
“Quite sure, my lady.”
“Then I will see her. Bring the lady to me here. This room is warm, and I fear that I dare not try to walk. My limbs are shaking with nervous dread.”
Nina glanced at her mistress, a pitiful look in her eyes, and left the room.
One minute, and she returned, a black-robed, girlish figure behind her.
“A mere girl,” thought Lady Elaine. “How could Nina be doubtful whether she were young or old?”
“This is the lady from Sir Harold Annesley, your ladyship,” said Nina.