She slipped out of the side-door that led to the servants’ quarters, and Ralph was left alone. All his weariness was gone now; the whirl of images and schemes with which his brain had been seething as he walked up the river-bank half-an-hour before, had receded into obscurity; and one dominating thought filled their place: What if Margaret were right? And what did he mean to do himself? Surely he was not—
The door from the entrance passage opened, and a tall slender figure stood there, now in light, now in shadow, as the flames rose and fell.
“Meg,” said a voice.
Ralph sat still a moment longer.
“Meg,” said Beatrice again, “how dark you are.”
Ralph stood up.
“Mrs. Roper has just gone,” he said, “you must put up with me, Mrs. Beatrice.”
“Who is it?” said the girl advancing. “Mr. Torridon?”
She had a paper in her hand as she came across the floor, and Ralph drew out a chair for her on the other side of the hearth.
“Yes,” he said. “Mrs. Roper has gone for lights. She will be back immediately.”