She gave him a quick and stealthy look, and her heart beat faster. He might, she thought, very well be the hero for whom she was waiting. He was a tall, blond fellow with a little fair mustache, very boyish-looking, very serious, not exactly handsome, but unquestionably possessed of a certain distinction. She looked at him again, but this time she met his eyes squarely, his shrewd gray eyes, and she saw quite plainly that he was displeased, that he didn’t like to see girls in kimonos in that library.
"Who are you?" he asked Angelica. "A new maid?"
"No!" she replied indignantly. "Not a maid. I’m her—I don’t know what her name is—her companion."
He raised his eyebrows.
"I’ll take up the books," he said. "I want to speak to Mrs. Russell. You needn’t trouble. Good night!"
He waved her out of the room ahead of him. She hurried, anxious to get out of his sight, and went into her own room. Looking back, she saw that he had left the door of Mrs. Russell’s room open, and she approached, to listen, for she felt quite sure that the conversation would relate to herself.
The young man had flung the books on the table, and was talking angrily.
"Then what did you do it for? You’ve no business to bring a girl like that into the house!"
"She’s respectable," said Mrs. Russell.
"You don’t know. She doesn’t look it. Anyway, even if she is, she’s no more fit to be a companion than—I don’t know what. It’s an insult to Polly!"