Ayeshi, with his face buried in his arms, had neither seen nor heard, and it was Mrs. Smithers who stepped challengingly into the man's path. Her old heart beat terrifyingly, but she held herself with a very dour and acrimonious determination.
"Of all the impertinence!" she hissed at him. "Go away with you, you nasty, maraudering heathen——"
But it was then that Sigrid saw him, and the D minor valse broke off sharply, leaving a flat and drear silence, as though some splendid, glowing spirit had fallen lifeless. She herself had risen and stood with one hand on the keys, the other at her side. Her mouth was still a little open, but no longer with her wide smile of joyous living. She looked tired, and rather wan.
"Who are you?" she asked, breathlessly. "What are you doing here?"
"I beg your pardon." Barclay bowed to her. "I assure you, I did not mean to interrupt your playing, but this—this lady caught sight of me and I had to present myself at once or be taken for a burglar. I hope I am forgiven?"
She shrugged her shoulder, studying him with an impassivity before which his suave manner faltered and became uncertain.
"I neither know you nor your business," she said. "When I have heard your explanation, it will be time to consider whether I can accept your apology."
"Meantime, I accept the reproof," he retorted. "But we are old acquaintances—at least, we have met before. That is the first paragraph of my excuse. We met at the dinner Lord Kirkdale gave in honour of your return, and I was introduced to you. My name is Barclay—James Barclay."
"There are many thousands of people who have been introduced to me and whose names and faces I have forgotten," she said, simply. "That does not warrant their walking into my drawing-room at odd hours of the night."
His smile, uneasily ingratiating, persisted.