But the great doors had opened. Before Verplank could speak, the machine slid in. As it entered the court, the doors closed noisily.
[VIII]
On alighting at the perron, Leilah had as always to endure the ceremonial of two footmen assiduously assisting her.
“Emmanuel,” she said to one of them. “Is Monsieur Barouffski at home?”
“No, madame la comtesse.”
Leilah passed on and up. For a moment, in the hall above, she hesitated. Then, pushing a portière aside, she entered a salon, went to the window, and looked out. Crossing the court was Verplank.
Fear and the fear of it, the throttling sensation which children know when pursued, enveloped her. With an idea of telling the servants that she was out, that she was ill, that she could see no one, she turned. On a table near the entrance was a service of Sevrès. Its tender hues were repeated on the ceiling. Beneath was the mirror of a waxed and polished floor. On the glistening wood work her foot slipped. She staggered, recovered herself, got to the door.