The servant left and both were silent, when Eline entered. A pink glow of veloutine hid the sallow tint of her complexion. Her hair was already arranged, and rows and rows of glittering sequins hung over her brow. But further than that she had not yet proceeded with her costume, and was simply wrapped in a white [[284]]flannel peignoir. Vincent rose, and she apologized for her toilette. But she was very charming.
“You wanted so urgently to speak to me,” she said softly to St. Clare, as she held out her hand to him. “You won’t mind that I’ve come to you like this; and keep your seat, please.”
They sat down, while Vincent withdrew with his newspaper into the conservatory. St. Clare looked at Eline searchingly.
“What is it you want to ask me?” she said.
“In the first place, I must ask your pardon for my boldness in having called you away from your toilette.”
“Oh, that is nothing. I have plenty of time.”
“I feel very much flattered that you have come at once. You can well imagine that I should not have intruded if it had not been for a very good reason. I had a request to make you.”
“Which admitted of no delay?”
“Yes, that admitted of no delay, and I run the risk that you will be very angry when I make that request, that you will feel hurt, and that you will tell me that I am interfering in matters that do not concern me.”
She had a vague suspicion of the question that he was about to utter.