The manservant who answered her inquiry for his master bore out Mr. Heriton’s description of him, for his countenance was a villainous one. But he was extremely respectful, begging the young lady to take a chair in an antechamber while he went to see whether Lieutenant Mason was in.
Florence, who declined his civility and remained standing, had heard voices in an inner room. These were hushed when the man entered, and then some one audibly asked:
“Good-looking, did you say?”
“One of the prettiest creatures I’ve seen for a long time, sir,” she heard the man answer.
Instinctively she drew her veil over the face that was crimsoning with resentment, and stepped nearer the door. But the man was already returning to ask her name.
She gave it with reluctance, and while awaiting the issue the door behind her opened, and a gentleman, whose bronzed face was half concealed by an Oriental-looking beard, entered the room, glanced at its veiled occupant, bowed, and retreated to the window.
The lieutenant’s servant came back with his fawning civility fast changing into insolence.
“My master really cannot see you to-night, miss. He is particularly engaged. You can leave a message if you like.”
In the presence of a stranger Florence felt herself compelled to curb her indignation at this rude treatment.
“Take this note to Lieutenant Mason,” she said haughtily, “and tell him that I am waiting for a reply to it. I must again request an interview with him.”