Kirkwood hesitated briefly, then acceded. The maid closed the door.
"What name shall I say, sir?"
"Mr. Kirkwood."
"If you will please to wait one moment, sir—"
He was left in the entry hall, the servant hurrying to the staircase and up. Three minutes elapsed; he was on the point of returning to the girl, when the maid reappeared.
"Mrs. Hallam says, will you kindly step up-stairs, sir."
Disgruntled, he followed her; at the head of the stairs she bowed him into the drawing-room and again left him to his own resources.
Nervous, annoyed, he paced the floor from wall to wall, his footfalls silenced by heavy rugs. As the delay was prolonged he began to fume with impatience, wondering, half regretting that he had left the girl outside, definitely sorry that he had failed to name his errand more explicitly to the maid. At another time, in another mood, he might have accorded more appreciation to the charm of the apartment, which, betraying the feminine touch in every detail of arrangement and furnishing, was very handsome in an unconventional way. But he was quite heedless of externals.
Wearied, he deposited himself sulkily in an armchair by the hearth.
From a boudoir on the same floor there came murmurs of two voices, a man's and a woman's. The latter laughed prettily.