With hands that shook terribly, Pauline replaced the receiver on the bracket and came round from behind the Indian screen, walking towards the door. She had not got within three paces of it when it was flung open and the footman announced "Mr. Collingwood."
Roderick Collingwood entered, spruce, débonnaire as ever, but showing in his face traces of the ordeal he was passing through.
"Hullo, Pauline; where is madame?" he said.
"Madame is resting," the maid said, with distinct hostility.
"Out upon the terrace?" he answered, moving towards the windows.
Pauline made a swift movement and placed herself between him and the curtains.
"No; I think she is in her room, monsieur. Please wait here."
Collingwood looked at Pauline in some surprise. He seemed hurt. "What is the matter, Pauline?" he said.
"Nothing is the matter, sir. Would you like to see the news?"
She handed him the evening paper from the writing-table. "I will tell madame," she said, and hurried from the room—well knowing that there was another door from the hall by which the terrace could be reached.