They entered the house by a French window, and Maud drew back into her room. What was there in that childish face that appealed so tremendously to her womanhood—wholly banishing her first involuntary sense of recoil? She could not have said, she was only conscious of the woman in her throbbing with a deep compassion. She stood and waited for the child's coming with a strangely poignant expectation.
She heard Bunny's voice talking cheerily on the stairs, but his words provoked no response. She went to the door and opened it.
Bunny was leading the way; in fact his companion seemed to be lagging very considerably in the rear.
Maud moved out into the passage, and Bunny stood to one side with a courteous gesture. "Mademoiselle Antoinette Larpent!" he announced.
The small figure in blue drew itself together with a certain bravado and came forward.
Maud held out her hands. "My dear child," she said, "I expected you long ago."
The hands she clasped were very small and cold. They did not cling to her as she had half expected. The blue eyes flashed her a single nervous glance and fell.
"I'm sorry I'm late, madam," said the visitor in a low, punctilious voice.
Maud felt amused and chilled in the same moment. "Come and sit down!" she said. "We will have some tea upstairs. Bunny, go and order it, will you?"
"With pleasure," said Bunny. "And may I return?"