She was startled, and gave a little laugh of derision at the foolish exuberance of her own fancy; and then she became angry, and because she felt that she had made a fool of herself, she called Lord Lullworth a fool—not in a whisper, but quite out loud.
“He is a fool—a fool—and I never want to see him again!” she said.
And then the servant opened the door and announced Mr. Pierce Winwood, and withdrew and closed the door.
She sat upright on the sofa, staring at him, her left hand pressing the centre of a cushion of Aubusson tapestry, and her right one a big pillow of amber brocade.
She stared at him.
He gave a rather sheepish laugh, and twirled his cane till the handle caught his gloves which he held in his hand, and sent them flying. He gave another laugh picking them up.
She was bewildered. Matters were becoming too much for her. Had he actually been lunching in the house that day or had she dreamt it? It seemed to her that only an hour had passed since she had said good-bye to him, and yet here he was entering as a casual visitor might enter.
She rose and mechanically held out her hand to him.
“How do you do?” she said. “How do you do? A warm afternoon, is it not? You look warm.”
And so he did. He looked extremely warm.