[CHAPTER V.]
IN THE MORNING ROOM.
The house seemed suddenly to have developed into a place of horrors. Hetty had never been quite happy there. She had always distrusted and been a little afraid of Countess Lalage. There was something inscrutable about her face, a Satanic suggestion behind her brilliant beauty.
There were little signs, too, that only a woman notices. It was as if the girl had found herself in a house of criminals. It was all wonderfully refined and luxurious, a perfectly appointed house, but after a year there Hetty knew absolutely nothing as to the past of her employer.
She flew up the stairs headlong with that blind unreasoning terror upon her. A big clock suddenly striking two went off in her ears like a rifle shot. She caught a glimpse of her own face in a mirror. Was that white scared visage her own sunny, happy face?
Without ceremony she darted into Countess Lalage's bedroom. The lights were still up, and the mistress of the house was brushing out her long black hair. She was cool and collected enough now.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.
"A man in the morning room," gasped Hetty. "A man with a horrid crooked nose and hands all over queer orange spots. Shall I alarm the house----"
"Come with me," Leona Lalage replied. "You are dreaming. Of course, there is no man in the house. Come along."