She bowed haughtily, hovering aloof.
"You wished to see me, Mr. Parmalee—that is your name, I believe.
What is it you have to say to me?"
"I don't think you really need to ask that question, my lady. You know as well as I do, or I'm mistaken."
"Who are you?" she demanded, impatiently, impetuously. "How do you come to know my secret? How do you come to be possessed of that picture?"
"I told you before. She gave it to me herself."
"For God's sake, tell me the truth! Don't deceive me! Do you really mean it? Have you really seen my——"
She stopped, shuddering in some horrible inward repulsion from head to foot.
"I really have," rejoined Mr. Parmalee. "I know the—the party in question like a book. She told me her story, she gave me her picture herself, of her own free will, and she told me where to find you. She is in London now, all safe, and waiting—a little out of patience, though, by this time, I dare say."
"Waiting!" Lady Kingsland gasped the word in white terror. "Waiting for what?"
"To see you, my lady."