She leant back in her corner with a sharp breath of relief, and neither moved nor spoke again until the carriage drew up at her own door.
She opened the door with a latchkey, and moved quickly across the hall to the foot of the stairs, motioning to Falconer to follow her. Then she stopped abruptly and turned. A servant was just crossing the hall to the dining-room, where the preliminary preparation for a dinner-party could be seen.
“Is Mr. Julian in?” said Mrs. Romayne sharply.
“Not yet, ma’am.”
“If he should come in before I go to dress, tell him that I am engaged.”
She turned again and went on to the drawing-room.
“Now!” she said in a breathless peremptory monosyllable, facing Falconer as he shut the door. She did not attempt to sit down herself or to invite Falconer to do so. All her senses seemed to be absorbed in the desperate anxiety with which her face was sharp and haggard. She looked ten years older than she had looked in Mr. Stormont-Eade’s studio. Falconer answered her directly with no preliminary formalities.
“I saw the—the young woman yesterday,” he began; “but I was unable to bring about any arrangement. I gave her twenty-four hours for consideration, and this afternoon I called to see her again.”
“Yes, yes!”
“I found that she had left the house this morning, leaving no address.”