CHAPTER IX
THE STORY OF A CALL
Mademoiselle Mermillon was not warmly welcomed at the Grand Hotel. The porter believed that Sir George Duncombe was out. He would inquire, if Mademoiselle would wait, but he did not usher her into the drawing-room, as would have been his duty in an ordinary case, or even ask her to take a seat.
Mademoiselle Mermillon was of the order of young person who resents, but this afternoon she was far too nervous. During the porter's temporary absence she started at every footstep, and scrutinized anxiously every passer-by. Often she looked behind her through the glass doors into the street. When at last he reappeared alone her disappointment was obvious.
"Sir George Duncombe is out, Mademoiselle," he announced. "Will you be pleased to leave a message, or your name?"
"You do not know how long he will be?" she inquired.
"Sir George left no word," the man answered. "He has been out since before déjeuner."
Mademoiselle decided to leave a note. The porter supplied her with notepaper and envelopes. She sat down at a small round table, and once more glanced furtively around. Convinced that she was not being watched, she hastily wrote a few lines, sealed and addressed the envelope, and handed it to the porter.
"You will give this to Sir George immediately he returns," she begged. "It is important."