He was at the piano, and had been in the midst of exciting himself by playing before sitting down to work.
"Sir," almost whispered Harriet in her very refined voice, "she heard you playing, and knew you were in."
"Oh, is it Mrs. Mansfield?"
"No, sir, the lady who called the other day just before that lady came."
Claude Heath frowned and lifted his hands as if he were going to hit out at the piano.
"Where is she?" he said in a low voice.
"In the drawing-room, sir."
"All right, Harriet. It isn't your fault."
He got up in a fury and went to the tiny drawing-room, which he scarcely ever used unless some visitor came. Mrs. Shiffney was standing up in it, looking, he thought, very smart and large and audacious, bringing upon him, so he felt as he went in, murmurs and lights from a distant world with which he had nothing to do.
"How angry you are with me!" she said, lifting her veil and smiling with a careless assurance. "Your eyes are quite blazing with fury."