The car turned in at the rude gates, and climbed the rough road which led to Saton’s temporary abode. A servant met him at the door as he descended, a gray-haired, elderly man, irreproachably attired, whose manner denoted at once the well-trained servant.
“There is a lady here, sir,” he said—“she arrived some hours ago—who has been waiting to see you. You will find her in the morning-room.”
Saton took off his hat, and moved slowly down the little hall.
“I trust that I did not make a mistake, sir, in allowing her to wait?” the man asked. “She assured me that she was intimately known to you.”
“You were quite right, Parkins,” Saton answered. “I think I know who she is, but I was scarcely expecting her to-day.”
He opened the door of the morning-room and closed it quickly. The woman rose up from the couch, where she had apparently been asleep, and looked at him.
“At last!” she exclaimed. “Bertrand, do you know that I have been here since the morning?”
“How was I to know?” he answered. “You sent no word that you were coming. I certainly did not expect you.”
“Are you glad?” she asked, a little abruptly.