“Fanny!” she said. “I want you.”
“What is it, dear?” said Miss Cronin, sitting forward a little in her chair and laying aside her book.
“I’ve brought back a friend, and I want you to know him. Come into my sitting-room.”
Miss Cronin got up obediently and remembering Mrs. Clem’s words, looked at Beryl’s cheek-bones and eyes.
“Is it Mr. Craven?” she asked in a quavering voice.
“Mr. Craven—no! You know him already.”
“I have seen him once, dear.”
“Come along!”
Miss Cronin followed her into the lobby. The door of the sitting-room was open, and by the fire was standing a stalwart-looking man in a dark blue overcoat. As Miss Cronin came in he gazed at her, and she thought she had never before seen such a pair of matching brown eyes. Beryl introduced him as Mr. Arabian.
The stranger bowed, and then pressed Miss Cronin’s freckled right hand gently, but strongly too.