The house was very still—there was not even a servant moving about to disturb the almost uncanny silence that reigned throughout it. It was Thursday, and Edith knew that the housemaid and cook's assistant were to have that afternoon out, which, doubtless, accounted in a measure for the unusual quiet.
But this very fact she knew would only serve to make any movement on her part all the more noticeable, and while she was wondering how she should manage her escape before the return of Mrs. Goddard, a slight noise behind her suddenly warned her of the presence of another in the room.
She turned quickly, and a low cry of surprise broke from her as she saw standing, just inside the door, the very woman whom, a few moments before she had seen disappear within the area door of the house.
She was now holding her child in her arms and regarding Edith through her veil with a look of fire and hatred that made the girl's flesh creep with a sense of horror.
Putting the little one down on the floor, she braced herself against the door and remarked, with a bitter sneer, but in a rich, musical voice, and with a foreign accent:
"Without doubt I am in the presence of Madam Correlli."
Edith flushed crimson at her words.
"I—I do not understand you," she faltered, filled with surprise and dismay at being thus addressed by the veiled stranger.
"I wish to see Madam Correlli," the woman remarked, in an impatient and bitter tone. "I am sure I am not mistaken addressing you thus."
"Yes, you are mistaken—there is no such person," Edith boldly replied, determined that she would never commit herself by responding to that hated name.