His color rose a little. He was not so insensible as he tried to appear, but his bow was flagrantly ironical.
“Good morning, Miss Ffolliot,” he answered, frigidly. “I should like a word with your father—if I could trouble you so far as to tell him that I am here.”
“My father will be exceedingly sorry to have missed you,” I answered, smiling upon him; “he is out just now.”
His frown deepened, and he was obviously annoyed. He made ready to depart.
“Can you tell me when he will be in?” he asked. “I will call again.”
“I am afraid that I cannot positively,” I answered. “We expect him home on Friday, but I don’t know at what time.”
He turned round upon me with a sudden change on his face. His curiously colored eyes seemed to have caught fire.
“Do you mean that he has gone away?” he asked, brusquely.
“He has gone to London this afternoon,” I answered. “Can I give him any message from you?”