She seemed to be gathering courage. She laughed very softly, as though amused at his earnestness. There was little enough of mirth in her laughter, yet somehow it gave him heart.
"What do these men want?" he asked. "Would you like me to go out and send them away?"
"No," she replied. "I do not wish you to leave me."
"But they are terrifying you," he protested. "What right have they in your garden? They are here, perhaps, as thieves."
"Hush!"
She sprang away from him. The room was suddenly flooded with light. She was leaning with her arm upon the mantelpiece, a statuette of black ivory in her hand.
"If you are really fond of this sort of thing," she began, "you should come with me to the South Kensington Museum one day—Who is that?"
The door had opened. It was Mr. Weatherley who appeared. Mr. Weatherley was distinctly fussy and there was some return of his pompous manner.
"My dear Fenella!" he exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing in here, with half your bridge tables as yet unarranged? Your guests are wondering what has become of you."
"Has any one fresh turned up?" she asked, setting down the statuette.