'Mr. and Mrs. Jarmey are both out,' said Lydia. 'They're gone to the theatre. Perhaps it's for you, Mrs. Grail?'
'No, that's not at all likely.'
'I'll go.'
Lydia opened. A gentleman stood without; he inquired in a pleasant voice if Mr. Grail was at home.
'I think so,' Lydia said. 'Will you please wait a minute?'
She hurried back to the parlour.
'It's a gentleman wants to see Mr. Grail,' she whispered, with the momentary excitement which any little out-of-the-way occurrence produces in those who live a life void of surprises. And she glanced at Gilbert, who had heard what she said. He rose:
'I wonder whether it's Mr. Egremont! Thank you, Miss Trent; I'll go to the door.'
Lydia escaped up the stairs. Gilbert went out into the passage, and his surmise was confirmed. Egremont was there, sheltering himself under an umbrella from rain which was once more beginning to fell.
'Could I have a word with you?' he said, with friendly freedom. 'I should have written, but I had to pass so near—'