With a high but firm step he came across the room and stood before her, holding out his hand.
"You have come," he said; "I thought you would not come. It is very kind of Mr. Etheridge."
She gave him her hand without a word. She knew that the keen gray eyes of the old lady beside her were fixed on her face. He seemed to remember too, for in a quieter, more commonplace, tone, he added:
"I am late; it is an habitual fault of mine."
"It is," said the old countess.
He turned his smile upon her.
"Are you going to scold me?"
"I am not fond of wasting my time," she said. "Come and sit down for a minute if you can."
He glanced at the clock.