"I hope you will pardon the liberty I have taken," and Olga spoke in sweet, low tones; "but I came to plead for your forgiveness. I was unutterably rude to you to-night, and I felt I could not sleep until I was assured of your pardon."
"Won't you sit down?" and Beatrice pointed to a chair as she spoke. "I will ask my grandfather to come here."
"But, pardon me," cried Olga eagerly, "could we not remain alone? I have much to say to you—things which I can say to you only."
"Then it was not simply to ask my pardon that you came?" retorted Beatrice. "Very well, I will hear you."
She was utterly different from the sensitive, almost timid girl whom Dick Faversham had spoken to at Wendover. It was evident that she had no fear of her visitor. She spoke in plain matter-of-fact terms.
For a few seconds the older woman seemed to be at a loss what to say. The young inexperienced girl disturbed her confidence, her self-assurance.
"I came to speak to you about Mr. Faversham," she began, after an awkward silence.
Beatrice Stanmore made no remark, but sat quietly as if waiting for her to continue.
"You know Mr. Faversham?" continued the woman.
"Yes, I know him."