But she was not suffered to remain long in peace, for just then a servant appeared at the door of the drawing-room, and announced:
“Mr. Gilbert Warrington!”
CHAPTER XIII.
GILBERT WARRINGTON’S PLOT.
Gilbert Warrington!
For a moment Violet’s heart stood still, then began to beat eighteen to the dozen. She pressed her cold, shaking hand upon it, as though with a hope of quieting its tumult; then, pale and outwardly calm, she turned and faced her unwelcome visitor. His sallow face was full of ill-concealed triumph; his thin lips wore a mocking smile. He stepped forward and extended his hand, but Violet drew back with a shudder.
“Ah, my dear Miss Arleigh!”—his voice had an unpleasant ring to it—“so you refuse to take my hand? Well, all right. That is just as you see fit. My word for it, you will be glad to accept any overtures of friendliness that I may see fit to make you before many days have passed.”
Violet’s eyes flashed. It was with difficulty that she restrained her anger; but she confronted him in outward quiet.
“What is your business with me?” she inquired, in a low, scornful tone. “Be good enough to state it, and then leave me. I wish to be alone.”