Elaine rose and bowed to her visitor, and was conscious of being closely scrutinized.
Then, at a sign from her mistress, Nina softly withdrew, and the stranger spoke.
The tones were soft, tremulous, and flute-like, and there was a world of pathos in every note.
“You are Lady Elaine Seabright?”
“Yes,” Elaine said, gently. She knew not why her heart went out in tenderness to this black-robed figure. Perhaps it was in sympathy, because she, too, mourned a lost one.
“You are very beautiful, Lady Elaine,” continued the visitor, half-dreamily, “and I have wanted to see you so much! I wanted to see the woman whom Sir Harold loved first—and loves best.”
A haughty light flashed into Elaine’s eyes, but the words that rose to her lips were checked by the girl tossing aside her veil, and revealing a face of wondrous beauty.
“I am Theresa,” she said. “I am Sir Harold’s unhappy wife.”
She dropped into a lounge, and shed passionate tears. In a moment Elaine was beside her, and murmuring soothing words to poor Theresa.
“I cannot understand why you should come here, Lady Annesley,” she said. “Sir Harold loves you fondly. Why should you call yourself unhappy!”