"No," said Alice, rousing herself with an effort from the lethargy which had fallen on her. "I feel quite well, but less full of vitality than when I arrived at Perchton. It is the idea of Tremore, I think," she shuddered. "You know what a gloomy house it is."
"Montrose will dispel the gloom when he arrives," suggested Hardwick.
Alice brightened. "Oh, I am sure he will. But how nice of you to say that. You are not a bit jealous."
"I believe you are annoyed because I am not, my dear girl," laughed the artist.
"Julian, how can you say such a thing?" she replied absently; then added in a markedly irrelevant manner, "I hope father will be glad to see me."
Mr. Enistor may have been glad, but he certainly did not appear at the door to show his gladness. Alice's boxes were taken into the house, and Julian departed in the car, declining to enter, on the plea that father and daughter would have much to say to one another. Alice did not seek to stay him. She felt chilled by the absence of welcome and the sombre atmosphere of the big house. The beaten space of ground upon which it stood seemed to isolate it from the warm laughing world of vivid life, and she entered with the feeling that she was descending into a vault. Nor did the greeting of her father tend to dissipate this impression of dismay. He received her in the library with a cold kiss and without rising from his chair.
"Well, Alice, how are you?" He looked at her keenly as she stood by the table, white and frozen into silence. "Your stay in town does not appear to have done you much good."
"Oh, I feel all right," said the girl, with an effort to be her true self.
"You don't look all right," snapped Enistor, rather disappointed. "After all the money you have spent you certainly should have a more healthy appearance. H'm! I think I understand," he paused a moment, then added bitingly, "your new lover has disappointed you. Is that it?"