The coachman got off his box and went to the carriage door and opened it.
A gentleman got out—a tall, thin man of about forty years of age, with dark, reddish-brown hair and beard.
Palma laid aside her work and stood up to receive the visitor.
He came up the steps of the piazza, stopped, raised his hat, and as he looked at the childlike young matron before him, said with some hesitation:
“Mrs.—Stuart? Have I the honor of speaking to Mrs. Stuart?”
“That is my name, sir,” replied Palma politely.
He bowed and handed her a card, on which she read: “The O’Melaghlin, Carrick Arghalee, Antrim, Ireland.”
“Will you come into the house, sir? Mr. Stuart is not here at present, but he is not far off, and I will send for him at once,” said Palma, leading the way into the hall and touching a call-bell as she passed a stand.
“Thank you, madam,” said the stranger, following her.
She conducted him into the drawing-room, gave him a seat and turned to speak to Hatty, who had come in answer to the bell.