Down in the sunny street the car was waiting; he entered and sat there, giving no orders, until the chauffeur, leaning wide from his seat and still holding open the door, ventured to remind him.
"Oh, yes! Then—you may drive me to Mrs. Clydesdale's."
But the woman whose big and handsome house was now his destination, had forbidden her servants to disturb her that morning; so when Desboro presented himself, only his card was received at the door.
Elena, in the drawing-room, hearing the bell, had sprung to her feet and stepped into the upper hall to listen.
She heard Desboro's voice and shivered, heard her butler say that she was not at home, heard the bronze doors clash behind him.
Then, with death in her heart, she went back noiselessly into the drawing-room where Mr. Waudle, who was squatting on a delicate French chair, retaining his seat, coolly awaited a resumption of the interrupted conference. As a matter of fact, he resumed it himself before she was seated on the sofa at his elbow.
"As I was telling you," he continued, "I've got to make a living. Why shouldn't you help me? We were friends once. You found me amusing enough in the old days——"
"Until you became impudent!"
"Who provoked me? Women need never fear familiarity unless they encourage it!"