Turning into the hall she noticed that Jarvis had followed her.
“Pardon me, madam—will you be coming down to see Lord Chesterfield now?”
“Just a minute.”
She threw open the double oak doors at the end. And her breath stopped as she did on the threshold.
A stream of sunshine flecked with motes came through the far window and centered on the couch. Lounging there in a position of uttermost comfort was Dick and [322] ]at his feet, hatless and cross-legged like some willing slave of the harem, Lilla Grant. A look of flame was in his non-committal eyes and in her heavy ones, languor. The ripe red lips were raised. From her fingers a cigarette dangled as he leaned close and struck a match. All too evident, though, that it was not to light the cigarette those lips were lifted.
Nancy’s hand went to her throat. That was all. Went to her throat and clung there.
The two started at the sound of another’s presence. The match halted. Cunningham looked up. He straightened, sat for an instant without moving, then got to his feet.
The provocation faded from Lilla’s lips. A moment before she had had the unmistakable air of being perfectly at home. Now as she followed the man’s sharp glance she stiffened. Uneasily she too rose and, as neither of the others spoke, gave a nervous little laugh.
“Why, Nancy, this is a coincidence! We’ve been expecting Ted Thorne for tea and only half an hour ago tried you on the phone to get you, too.”
Nancy made no attempt to refute the glib lie. She simply stood gazing at her husband as if her eyes were touching him. Then she turned away.