‘Business?—Oh, come in, if you like.’
She drew back to admit him, but in the passage stood looking at her letter. Barmby was perplexed and embarrassed.
‘You had rather I called again?’
‘Called again? Just as you like.’
‘Oh, then I will stay,’ said Samuel bluntly. For he had things in mind which disposed him to resent this flagrant discourtesy.
His voice awakened Nancy. She opened the door of the dining-room.
‘Will you sit down, Mr. Barmby, and excuse me for a few minutes?’
‘Certainly. Don’t let me inconvenience you, Miss. Lord.’
At another time Nancy would have remarked something very unusual in his way of speaking, especially in the utterance of her name. But for the letter in her hand she must have noticed with uneasiness a certain severity of countenance, which had taken the place of Barmby’s wonted smile. As it was, she scarcely realised his presence; and, on closing the door of the room he had entered, she forthwith forgot that such a man existed.
Her letter! His handwriting at last. And he was in England.