Lady Edith rose quickly, but Finette made her a gesture to sit down again.
“My lady, it is not you she consents to receive, it is Lord Stuart,” she said, flippantly; and Lady Edith sunk back in her chair with a low cry of wounded pride.
Lord Stuart went to her, and with a rare impulse of tenderness kissed the lovely, disappointed face.
“There is some mistake,” he whispered, soothingly. “It will be explained, I am sure, as soon as I see Thea. Will you wait here for me a little while?”
“Yes,” she replied; but as soon as she was left alone she burst into the bitterest sobs.
Her loving nature was cruelly wounded by this cold and strange reception, after all her affectionate anticipations of the joyful welcome she would have from Thea.
Meanwhile, Lord Stuart was following Finette to the boudoir, thinking how unseemly it appeared that the first wife’s maid should be here in attendance on Thea.
“I should not like it myself,” he thought; and just then Finette flung open the boudoir door.
He entered, and found himself in an exquisite apartment, whose prevailing color was a rich azure. The rich hue and fragrance of flowers greeted him on every side, but the apartment was untenanted, and Finette said, apologetically:
“My mistress will be with you in a few moments.”