At that moment a footman was passing along the colonnade; and, calling in a loud voice, the stranger attracted his attention.
“Is your master in?” was the question, put easily and naturally.
The footman hesitated for an instant; but the presence of Miss Charteris reassured him.
“Yes, sir.”
“Kindly inform him that I am here.”
“What name, sir?” the man asked.
“Sir Douglas Gerant.”
The footman bowed and turned away, while Vane felt that she wished the ground would open and swallow up this queer, dried, cynical cousin or herself—it mattered not which. Never had she been in so disagreeable a position. Sir Douglas came to her rescue.
“Will you forgive me?” he said, quietly extending his hand, a long, thin white hand, which seemed strangely at variance with his rough, ill-cut clothes.
“It is I who must ask that,” she replied. “Of course, had I known——”