"How do you do, Burden?" he said. "I am afraid you have not been well."
Burden curtsied, and looked up at him with hollow eyes.
"Thank you, my lord," she faltered. "My lady sent me to tell your lordship that she will be here in a minute or two."
She left the room, and Drake leaned against the mantelshelf with his hands in his pockets, his head sunk on his breast; and in a minute or two the door opened again, and Luce glided toward him with outstretched hands.
"Drake! How sweet of you to send for me—to wait!" she murmured.
He took one of her hands and held it, and the coldness of his touch, the expression of his face, startled her.
"Drake! What is the matter?" she asked. "Are—are you not glad to see me? Why do you look at me so strangely? I came the moment I could get away. There has been so much to do; and father"—she paused a moment and shrugged her shoulders—"has been very bad. The excitement and fuss——You know the condition he would be in, under the circumstances. I told Burden to wire this morning to say I was coming, but she forgot to do so. She seems half demented, and I am going to get rid of her. What is the matter, Drake?"
She had moved nearer to him, expecting him to take her in his arms and kiss her; but his coldness, his silence, was telling upon her, and the question broke from her impatiently.
"Haven't you had my letter?" he asked.
"Your letter? No. Did you write? I am sorry! What did you write?"