The door opened and a stream of light broke in from the lamp carried by Mrs. Penfold.
"Are you there, Miss Stella? Oh, yes, there you are! I thought it was Mr. Etheridge playing; you don't often play like that. There's a note for you."
"A note! For me!" exclaimed Stella, turning on her stool with amazement.
Mrs. Penfold smiled and nodded.
"Yes, miss; and there's an answer, please."
Stella took the note hesitatingly, as if she half expected it to contain a charge of explosive dynamite; the envelope was addressed in a thin, beautiful hand to Miss Stella Etheridge. Stella turned the envelope over and started as she saw the arms stamped upon it. She knew it, it was the Wyndward crest.
For a moment she sat looking down at it without offering to open it, then with an effort she tore it open, slowly, and read the note enclosed.
"Dear Miss Etheridge:—Will you redeem the promise you made me this afternoon and come and see me? Will you ask Mr. Etheridge to bring you to dine with them to-morrow at eight o'clock? I say 'them' because I dine always alone; but perhaps you will not mind coming to me after dinner for a little while. Do not let Mr. Etheridge refuse as he generally does, but tell him to bring you for my sake."
"Yours very truly,
"Lilian Wyndward."
Stella read it and re-read it as if she could not believe her senses. Lady Lilian's invitation had sounded so vague that she had scarcely remembered it, and now here was a direct invitation to Wyndham Hall, and to dinner.