Sir John's face grew scarlet. He drew himself up to his stiffest attitude, and compressed his lips firmly together.
"Perhaps you feel annoyed," said Antonia, "and I don't think I am surprised. Will you sit down and let me explain matters?"
"Pray do nothing of the kind. I can wait until Mrs. Bernard Temple comes home. When is the play likely to be over?"
"I expect mother and Annie and Nora back about half-past eleven. It is now half-past nine. Have you had dinner?"
"No."
"Will you come downstairs, and let me give you something to eat?"
"No, thank you. As your mother is not at home, I shall dine at my club, and come back later on."
"No, you won't," said Antonia.
She started up, and placed herself between Sir John and the door. He felt himself groaning inwardly. Was that awful girl mad? What did her strange telegram mean? And why, if Mrs. Bernard Temple sent for him in a hurry, had she not the civility to wait at home to see him? This was really taking matters with a free-and-easy hand with a vengeance. The proud Sir John had never felt more thoroughly angry in his life. He stalked up to Antonia now, and endeavoured to pass her, but she dodged him successfully.
"I know you are a gentleman," she said; "and a gentleman always listens to what a lady has got to say, even when he is angry with her. I'm an awful personage in your eyes, but if you will listen to me to-night, I will promise to be as good and unobtrusive as girl can be in the future. I'll even wear ordinary dresses when I come to visit you, and I won't talk of my sacred Art when you are in the room. There, can girl promise more?—can she?"