“She will see us, for we have come from England to see her,” Lady Edith exclaimed, impetuously; while she wondered why every one had gone away and left her dear Thea ill and alone.
“Yes, she will see us when she knows our names,” said Lord Stuart, putting two cards into her hand with a silver coin that made her show all her fine white teeth in a grin of delight.
“I’ll ask Mrs. de Vere’s maid. She is the mistress here, it seems,” said the girl, in a tone of discontent. Then she ushered them into a pretty reception-room. “You can wait here till I find out,” she said.
When they were alone, Lady Edith looked at her brother with questioning eyes.
“Is it not strange for Mr. de Vere and his mother to leave Thea alone and sick?” she asked.
“I do not understand it,” he replied; and a cloud of anxiety came over his face.
He thought of the false telegram that had summoned Norman de Vere to New York. What if he had never returned? What if there were foul play somewhere?
He waited most impatiently a few minutes, then the door unclosed, and a woman appeared on the threshold.
Lord Stuart gave a violent start, for time had scarcely touched Finette, and in the creature before him he at once recognized Camille’s maid. He could not repress a slight shudder of disgust when her snaky black eyes, after sweeping curiously over his sister, fixed themselves upon him.
“My lord,” she began, with a cringing movement of her supple frame, “my mistress is sick. She sees no one, but”—with a courtesy to Lady Edith—“she will see you in her boudoir a few moments if the lady will excuse her.”