"Are you sure? You say you saw, you listened? Are you sure?" she said—hissed, rather—at the end of Burden's story.
"I—I am quite sure," she responded. "I—I could swear to it. I was just outside the library."
Lady Luce paced up and down with the gait of a tigress.
"If I could only be sure," she panted; "if I could only be sure! But you may be mistaken. Wait!" Her hand fell upon Burden's shoulder again. "Go downstairs, look at the people, and tell me if you see her there. Quick!"
Burden, wincing under the savage pressure of her hand, rose, and stole from the room.
In less than five minutes she was back.
"Well?" demanded Lady Luce, as Burden closed the door and leaned against it.
"It—it is the same. I saw her," she said suddenly.
Lady Luce sank into a chair, and was silent and motionless for a moment; then she sprang up and laughed—a hideous laugh for such perfect lips.
"Get out my pale mauve silk. Dress me, quick! I am not going to leave the house. I am going downstairs to make Miss Lorton's acquaintance! Quick!"