“Gordon Selsbury! Do you imagine Gordon Selsbury would bring a woman to this house furtively? Do you imagine he would come dressed like a third-class comedian? Never dare mention Mr. Selsbury’s name again in my presence!”
Gordon opened and closed his mouth, but no words came.
“You will stay here until I give you permission to go.”
She went to the garden gate, closed and slammed it, then came back to Gordon.
“You had a key? Give it to me,” she said curtly.
Gordon obeyed, lamb-like, watching her as she double-locked the door. And then he made his last desperate attempt.
“Diana, I can explain everything,” he said hoarsely. “I am—the fact is—I’ll tell you the truth. I was going abroad, and the fact is, I am Gordon, although I may not seem so. I admit I’m wearing the most disgustingly loud suit, and that I have in other ways changed my appearance, but that also can be explained.”
There was a knock on the panel of the door.
“Wait,” said Diana, and walked backward to the entrance. “Who is it?”
“Eleanor, madam. A telegram.”