His voice was strange in his ears, as he inquired if Mamie was in.
"Yessir; she's in the drorin'-room. 'Oo shall I say?"
"Sir George Heriot. Is Mrs. Baines at home?"
His title rendered the little maid incapable of an immediate response.
"Missis is out of a herrand, sir," she stammered; "she won't be long."
"When she comes in, tell her that I'm talking privately to her niece. 'Privately'; don't forget!"
She turned the handle, and Heriot followed her into the room. Vaguely he heard her announce him; he saw the room as in a mist. Momentarily all that was clear was Mamie's face, white and wondering in the lamplight. She stood where she had been standing at his entrance, looking at him; he had the impression of many seconds passing while she only looked; many seconds seemed to go by before her colour fluttered back and she said, "You?"
"Yes, it's I. Won't you say you're glad to see me?"
"Aunt Lydia has written to you," she said, still gazing at him as if she doubted his reality. "Her letter has gone."
"I've come to hear what Dr. Drummond says."