The girl left the room to take her message, and Mrs. Grey began to change her dress, smiling strangely to herself as she did so.
She gave a last finishing touch to the curls of her glossy black hair, and a last lingering look at the mirror, and then she went down-stairs.
There, alone in the drawing-room, stood the one devoted lover and slave that she had left in the whole world.
He came down the room to meet her.
"You here! Oh, I'm so delighted to see you!" she said, in a low tone, full of feeling, as she went toward him, holding out both her hands.
He trembled from head to foot and turned pale and red by turns as he took them.
"I am so happy—You are so good to say so! I was almost afraid—I thought you might consider it a liberty—my coming," faltered the poor fellow, in sore confusion.
"A liberty? How could you possibly imagine I would consider your coming here a liberty on your part? Why, dearest friend, I consider it a favor from you, a pleasure for me! Why should you think otherwise?" inquired Mary Grey, with her most alluring smile.
"Oh, thanks—thanks! But it was your letter!"
"My letter? Sit down, Craven, dear, and compose yourself. Here, sit here," she said, seating herself on the sofa and signing for him to take the place by her side.