"I told you I was not at home."
"I know, ma'am, but—" Norris hesitated.
"But what? I told you I was not to be disturbed. I won't be disturbed." With a gesture plainly indicative of high-strung nerves, she turned to the table and poured herself out a cup of tea.
The maid glanced behind her towards the door. "But the gentleman won't go, ma'am—"
"Won't go!" In her surprise Enid laid down the cup she had been about to raise to her lips. "Who is he?" she demanded.
Norris looked down. "I don't know, ma'am. I told him you were not at home, but he won't go. He's the sort of gentleman who won't take no for an answer."
"I don't understand you. Who is he? What is he like?" Unconsciously and involuntarily Enid's tone quickened. Something in the woman's words—something undefined and yet suggestive—stirred and agitated her.
Norris seemed to choose her words. "Well, ma'am," she answered, slowly, "he's very tall—and not like any other gentleman that comes here. I can't rightly explain it, miss, he seems used to having his own way—"
As she halted, uncertain how to choose her words, Enid rose nervously. She could not have defined her emotions, but some feeling at once vague and portentous was working in her mind.
"Did he give no name?"