Cramming her trio of treasures into the pocket of her dress, where one would have supposed them to be in uncomfortable, not to say dangerous, juxtaposition, she strode to the door, intent on scarifying the presumptuous caller. When, however, she perceived who stood without, surprise for the moment made her irresolute.
The visitor was Mr Horace Burton, at whom Miss Casata stared, as if he were the very last person she had expected to see--which, probably, as a matter of fact, he was. Mr Burton, on the other hand, bestowed on her his blandest smile. He sauntered past her as if he had not the slightest doubt in the world that he would be regarded as a welcome guest.
'Hollo, Lou! come to pay you a visit.'
His tone was light and airy, in striking contrast to her demeanour, which was about as tragic as it could be.
'Go! Do you hear me, go, before you are sorry, and I am sorry, too!'
Her manner seemed to leave him quite unmoved.
'Now, my dear girl, don't look at me like that; it isn't nice of you. I'm here as a friend--a friend, you understand--and something more than a friend.'
'You are no friend of mine; no, you never can be. I tell you again to go at once, or you will be sorry. I have warned you.'
'That's all right; you'll change your tone when you hear what I have to say. I've come here to bring sunshine into your life, to ask for your forgiveness, to undo the past. Be sensible; there's a good girl.'
'Sensible? Oh, yes, I will be sensible. There's someone else here.'