Mr. Etheridge looked up with the usual confused air with which he always received his rare visitors, but Stella held out her hand with a smile calm and self-possessed. There is a great deal of the woman even about a girl of nineteen.
"Good-morning, Mr. Adelstone," she said. "You have come just in time for a cup of coffee."
"I ought to apologize for intruding at such an unseasonable hour," he said, as he bent over her hand, "but your good housekeeper would not hear of my going without paying my respects. I am afraid I'm intruding."
"Not at all, not at all," murmured the artist. "Here's a chair," and he rose and cleared a chair of its litter by the simple process of sweeping it on to the floor.
Mr. Adelstone sat down.
"I hope you are not tired after your mild dissipation last night?" he asked of Stella.
She laughed.
"Not at all. I was telling uncle how nice it was. It was my first party in England, you know."
"Oh, you musn't call it a party," he said. "But I am very glad you enjoyed it."
"What beautiful flowers," said Stella, glancing at the bouquet.