"Poor Nestley," muttered Beaumont to himself, lighting another cigarette, "it was rather a shame of me to have led him on like I did, but if I hadn't he would have interfered with my plans concerning old Garsworth, so I had to--self-preservation is the first law of nature. Come in," he called out, as a knock came to the door. "Come in, Margery."
It was not Margery, however, but Cecilia Mosser, who entered, with a pale sad face and a painfully-strained look in her sightless eyes.
"Mr. Beaumont," she said, in her low sweet voice.
"I am here, Miss Mosser," he replied, rising from his seat. "What can I do for you?"
"Nothing," she replied, groping her way to the table and standing beside it. "Are you alone?"
"Quite alone," returned Beaumont politely.
"You wish to see Dr. Nestley?"
"If I may be permitted."
"You will not be permitted," answered Cecilia slowly; "he is still very weak, and the sight of you would make him ill again."
"And why?" asked Beaumont, rather annoyed at the firmness of her tone; "surely a friend----"