“Miss Jordan and Mr. Lawson, Madam,” announced the butler, and he stood aside to let them pass.
Dorothy walked into a room whose walls seemed built of books. The furniture was richly attractive and looked luxuriously comfortable. A fire blazed in a fine chimney and a table near it was set with a glitter of splendid silver and hot water plates below shining metal covers.
A tall, superbly beautiful woman, with dark eyes and coal-black hair that grew in a widow’s peak on her brow, rose from a chair on the wide hearth and came toward them. Her clear, white skin, and a broad streak of silver across the black hair gave her a strangely ethereal appearance, as though she might have been a being from another planet. The hand she held out to Dorothy was exquisitely formed, the fingers long and tapering.
“How do you do, Janet,” she said pleasantly. “Welcome to Winncote. You are later than we expected. The Doctor has gone to bed, but he left his greetings.”
“Thank you,” Dorothy returned formally and shook hands. “You are very kind, Mrs. Lawson.”
Laura Lawson gave her a smile, but the girl saw that it was a smile of the lips alone, her dark eyes remained somber. “Did you have a breakdown?” she asked her husband, taking notice of him for the first time.
“Slippery roads—it was impossible to do much more than crawl, Laura.” He lifted a dish cover on the table and inspected its contents. “Glad you thought to order supper—I’m famished.”
“So am I,” admitted his wife and her words seemed to carry a double meaning. “It’s long after three. Come over here by the fire and get warm, Janet. Now Tunbridge—if you’ll please serve us?”
Tunbridge seated them at the supper table and uncovered the dishes.
“Just a light meal,” announced the hostess, “scrambled eggs, toast and cocoa, but it will warm you up and help you last until breakfast.”