She looked up, startled, to see Jacob Delafield. His expression--of doubt or discomfort--recalled her at once to the realities of her own situation.
But before she could reply, a sound struck on her ear. She sprang to her feet.
"What was that?" she said.
A voice was heard in the hall.
Julie Le Breton caught the chair behind her, and Delafield saw her turn pale. But before she or he could speak again, the door of the library was thrown open.
"Good Heavens!" said Montresor, springing to his feet. "Lady Henry!"
M. du Bartas lifted astonished eyes. On the threshold of the room stood an old lady, leaning heavily on two sticks. She was deathly pale, and her fierce eyes blazed upon the scene before her. Within the bright, fire-lit room the social comedy was being played at its best; but here surely was Tragedy--or Fate. Who was she? What did it mean?
The Duchess rushed to her, and fell, of course, upon the one thing she should not have said.
"Oh, Aunt Flora, dear Aunt Flora! But we thought you were too ill to come down!"