"I hope the conversation was favourable to me," said the doctor, advancing towards Olive and clasping one of her cool slim hands, "how do you do, Miss Maunders?"
"I am quite well, thank you," she answered, quickly withdrawing her hand from his warm grasp. "Have you been away from London?"
"Yes, I've been to Monte Carlo," began Adrian mechanically, then suddenly recollecting that his personality was lost in the body of Dr. Roversmire, he went on hurriedly, "that is—no—I have not been out of town further than Hampstead."
"And why have you not been to see us for such a long time," said Sir John. "We have not had a visit for months."
"I've been living very quietly," replied Adrian, with an effort, "making experiments."
The fact was he did not know exactly what to say as he was quite ignorant of the relations existing between Dr. Roversmire and Sir John Maunders, and, moreover, was woefully ignorant in all matters of theosophy in which Sir John was quite an adept. Besides, the sight of Olive Maunders' calm, sweet face had woke the deepest passions of his soul as he reflected how near and yet how far away she was to him. He saw her face, he heard her voice, he touched her hand and yet for all the satisfaction he obtained he might have been miles away, separated as he was from her by this mask of ancient seeming, in which his ardent young soul had become incarnate.
Olive Maunders, on her part, was struck by the change in the manner of her former admirer. The look of calm, conscious superiority which she had been accustomed to admire, much as she disliked the man, was gone, and in its place was an expression of anguish and a look of haunting dread in the dark eyes. His voice also, formerly so rich, smooth and flowing, was broken and rough, as if the owner had lost all power of controlling his speech.
"I'm very glad to see you, Dr. Roversmire," said Olive, looking at him keenly, "as I wish you to help me."
"I will be delighted. What is it you wish me to do."
"Find Adrian Lancaster."