Presently she heard the outer door open and close, and steps cross the hall. She looked up with a start to see Laurence Sybert in the doorway.
‘What’s the matter—did I surprise you?’ he inquired.
‘Yes; I thought you had gone to the party.’
‘I was in the wine-cellar just as much as you,’ he returned, with a little laugh, as he drew up a chair beside her. ‘Why can’t I have malaria too?’
His sudden appearance had been disconcerting, and her usual self-assurance seemed to be wandering to-night. She did not know what to say, and she half rose.
‘I was just going to ring for the lamp when you came. Pietro must have forgotten it. Would you mind——’
Sybert glanced lazily across the room at the bell. ‘Oh, sit still. We have light enough to talk by, and you surely aren’t intending to read when you have a guest.’ He stretched out his hand and took possession of her book.
‘I don’t flatter myself that you stayed away from the contessa’s to talk to me,’ she returned as she leaned back again with a slight shrug.
‘Why else should I have stayed?’ he inquired. ‘Do you think, when it came to the point, your uncle wouldn’t give me a coat?’
‘Probably you found that it didn’t fit.’