Mr. Eddie followed him so quickly that before she knew it Angelica found herself left alone at the table. She, too, hastened out of the room and up-stairs, and in a sort of panic knocked at Polly’s door.
"Who is it?" inquired Polly’s voice, languidly.
"Angelica!" she answered, forgetting, and hastily added: "Kennedy."
"I don’t need anything this evening, thank you. Good night!"
She turned away, completely at a loss. It was only half-past seven, hours before bedtime. What was she to do?
She went into her room. It was as charming and comfortable as she had remembered it, but it offered no prospect of amusement. She didn’t know whether she ought to go into the library or any of the rooms down-stairs. She wanted to, but she had a dread of being spoken to by a servant.
"Well, I’ll take a walk, then," she said. "No one can say a word against that!"
She put on her jacket and her rakish big black hat, and went sauntering down the hall. She had to pass the open door of a room, and in it she saw Mr. Eddie, writing. He saw her, too.
"Hello!" he cried. "Where are you going?"
"Out for a walk."