The door was opened by Miss Coburn in person. On seeing her visitor she stood for a moment quite motionless while a look of dismay appeared in her eyes and a hot flush rose on her face and then faded, leaving it white and drawn.
“Oh!” she gasped faintly. “It’s you!” She still stood holding the door, as if overcome by some benumbing emotion.
Merriman had pulled off his hat.
“It is I, Miss Coburn,” he answered gently. “I have come over from London to see you. May I not come in?”
She stepped back.
“Come in, of course,” she said, making an obvious effort to infuse cordiality into her tone. “Come in here.”
He fumbled with his coat in the hall, and by the time he followed her into the drawing-room she had recovered her composure.
She began rather breathlessly to talk commonplaces. At first he answered in the same strain, but directly he made a serious attempt to turn the conversation to the subject of his call she adroitly interrupted him.
“You’ll have some tea?” she said presently, getting up and moving towards the door.
“Er-no-no, thanks, Miss Coburn, not any. I wanted really—”