Mr. Stibbings appeared between the velvet curtains.
"Dinner served, my lord."
Lord Blair Leyton nodded impatiently without turning.
"Are you staying here?" he said.
"Yes," said Margaret, going on with her painting.
He stood looking at her, at the beautiful, intelligent "artist" face, at the dove-colored dress, at the pink-white hand with its supple, capable fingers.
"Are you not going to dinner, my lord?" she said, unable to bear his silent presence any longer.
"I beg your pardon!" he said with a little start. "I was waiting for you."
"For me?" she said, turning her face to him with wide-eyed surprise.
"Yes," he said; "we will go together. You are coming, are you not?"