Mrs. Graves turned away, shaking her gray head dubiously.
"Very well. The consequences be upon your own head, Mr. Keith," she said, solemnly.
Then she left the room, and he was alone with his own thoughts—half angry, half amused.
"The idea!" he exclaimed, his anger getting the upper hand. "To attempt to keep Beatrix and me apart! What does old Graves mean, anyway? I shall ask Uncle Bernard. But then, he, too, certainly appears to be off his base, as well as the housekeeper. What a curious old house this is, to be sure! But, come what may, I mean to know the truth; I mean to know what Mrs. Lynne and Serena meant when they said that Beatrix left them to be married. Ah! she's coming—my own, my sweet! I hear her light footsteps. Heaven bless her!"
A pause at the door, then a faint, timid rap upon it.
"Come in!" cried Keith, eagerly.
The door opened slowly, and Beatrix Dane stood before him. She looked very fair and sweet in her plain black gown with white crape at throat and wrists, her golden hair in a loose coil fastened with a jet arrow.
"You sent for me, Mr. Kenyon?" she began slowly, hesitatingly.
"I did. I wish to speak with you on a matter of the greatest importance. Come here, Beatrix. You will pardon me, for I am still something of an invalid."