He returned to the center of the library. A swishing sounded. Loris, with eyes aflame, glided into the room. The curtains dropped behind her with soft rustling. She glanced from Drew to her father. She stamped her slippered foot upon the thick pile of the rug before the doorway.
“By what right?” she said to Drew. “By whose orders have you sent that awful man to my rooms?”
Drew flushed beneath the olive of his skin.
“I sent him,” he admitted guiltily. “I never thought you would be offended, Miss Stockbridge.”
“I am—greatly so! Do you mistrust me?”
“Miss Stockbridge,” Drew hastened to say with soft apology. “Miss Loris—that thought never entered my mind. It never did! I’ll have Mr. Delaney out, right away. He should not have gone in without your permission. I told him to knock and ask you.”
“My maid let him in. I—I––”
Drew studied her gown. It had been changed. The Irish lace and the lavender one had been replaced by an Oxford-gray tailor-made suit which fitted her slender, elegant form like a close glove. Her slippers were topped with fawn-hued spats. One ring was on her finger. It was a solitaire of price. It gleamed and flashed in the rose-light as she raised her hand to her hair.
“I’ll have Delaney right out,” repeated Drew, bowing and starting for the doorway.
“No!”