She went to the window again and stood with her back against it, so that her body was outlined against the faint light. Would the person come in the dark, or would he carry a light? Something began to whirl in her brain. What was the low, pumping thump she seemed to hear and feel at the same time? It was the awful thumping of her heart.
The door opened—not stealthily, but quite in the ordinary way. The person who came in did not move stealthily either. He came in as though he were making an evening call. How tall and straight his body was, with a devilish elegance of line against the background of light in the hall. She thought she saw a white flower on his lapel as his overcoat fell back. The leering footman had opened the door for him.
“Turn on the lights.” A voice she knew gave the order, the leering footman obeyed, touching a spot high on the wall.
She had vaguely and sickeningly felt almost sure that it would be either Count von Hillern or Lord Coombe—and it was not Count von Hillern! The cold wicked face—the ironic eyes which made her creep—the absurd, elderly perfection of dress—even the flawless flower—made her flash quake with repulsion. If Satan came into the room, he might look like that and make one’s revolting being quake so.
“I thought—it might be you,” the strange girl’s voice said to him aloud.
“Robin,” he said.
He was moving towards her and, as she threw out her madly clenched little hands, he stopped and drew back.
“Why did you think I might come?” he asked.
“Because you are the kind of a man who would do the things only devils would do. I have hated—hated—hated you since I was a baby. Come and kill me if you like. Call the footman back to help you, if yon like. I can’t get away. Kill me—kill me—kill me!”
She was lost in her frenzy and looked as if she were mad.