In the pause that followed the sound of footsteps upon the stairs outside was heard; the sound of footsteps and of men’s friendly laughter. Some persons were in the act of ascending.
“My God!” whispered Ella. “He has followed me here!”
“Hush!” said Phyllis. “Papa is bringing someone to us.”
“Whom—whom?”
They were both standing together in the middle of the room, both having their eyes fixed on the door, when the door opened and Mr. Ayrton appeared, having by his side a man with iron-gray hair and a curiously pallid face.
At the sight of that man Ella’s hands, that had been holding her wrap close to her throat, feeling for its silver clasp, fell limp, and the splendid mass of white brocade slipped to the floor and lay in folds about her feet, revealing her lovely figure sparkling from the hem of her dress to the top of her shapely head.
CHAPTER XXI.
THAT TOILET SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN WASTED.
For several seconds the tableau remained unchanged: the two women standing side by side, the two men motionless at the half-open door.