“Why, Preenham—”
“It was Mr Girtle, sir, proposed it. Said it would be a pleasant change for everybody. The carriage was ordered, and dinner an hour sooner.”
“The sky will fall next,” said Artis, with a sneering laugh. “Bring me some coffee in the library, and—no, some brandy and soda and the cigars.”
“Yes, sir. Miss D’Enghien’s in the drawing-room, sir. Had a bad headache, and didn’t go.”
“Why didn’t you say that at first?” cried Artis; and he went up two stairs at a time, to find Katrine in the act of throwing herself into a chair, and looking flushed and hot.
“You here?” she said, wearily.
“My darling!” he cried. “If I had only known. At last!”
He threw himself at her feet, clasped her waist, and drew her half resisting towards him, while before a minute had elapsed, her arms were resting upon his shoulders, and her eyes were half closed in a dreamy ecstasy, as she yielded to the kisses that covered her face.
Suddenly, with a quick motion, she threw him off.
“Quick—some one,” she whispered.