"Please come in," she said in her calm young voice.
CHAPTER VI
A RATHER tall man stepped in. He wore a snow-dusted, fur-lined overcoat and carried in his white-gloved hands a top hat and a silver-hooked walking stick.
He had made a mistake, of course; and Athalie hastily lowered her feet and turned half around in her chair again to meet his expected apologies; and then continued in that attitude, rigid and silent.
"Miss Greensleeve?" he asked.
She rose, mechanically, the heavy lustrous braids framing a face as white as a flower.
"Is that you, Athalie!" he asked, hesitating.
"C. Bailey, Junior," she said under her breath.