"I tell you it will be impossible for you to see her," said a voice, which he recognized as belonging to Gerelda's maid.
"But I must," retorted another voice which sounded strangely familiar. "Give her the note I just gave you, and I will wager you something handsome that she will see me. My good girl, let this plead for me with you!"
A jingle of silver accompanied the words, and Varrick could not help but smile at the magical effect the little bribe had.
"Of course, I'll take your note to her, sir," said the girl; "but that isn't promising she'll see you."
Somehow the idea formed itself in Varrick's mind that it was Mrs. Northrup for whom the man asked. Had he thought for one moment that it was Gerelda whom the man had asked for, he would have stepped forth and inquired of him what he wanted.
In a very few moments he heard the frou-frou of a woman's garments and the patter of hurrying feet.
"Gerelda has come instead of her mother to see what this person wants," he thought; adding impatiently: "This will never do; we shall be late for the train, sure. I will have to take the man off her hands."
At that instant, Gerelda, panting with excitement sprung across the threshold of the conservatory.
From his leafy seat Varrick could hear and see all that took place, while no one could see him.
He had risen, and was just about to step forward, when he caught sight of Gerelda's face. The color of it held him spell-bound. It was as pale as death, and her eyes flashed fire. She was fairly frothing at the mouth, and the look of venomous rage that distorted her features appalled him.