Lord Robert broke into a peal of derisive laughter. “Go on,” he cried. “Go on, dear boy! It's funny to hear you, though—after to-day's proceedings too”; and he glanced significantly around the table.
Drake brought down his fist with a thump on to the mantelpiece. “Hold your tongue, Robert! How often am I to tell you this is a different thing entirely? Because I discover a creature of genius and try to help her to the position she deserves——”
“You hypocrite, if it had been a man instead of a charming little woman with big eyes, don't you know——”
But there had been a ring at the outer door, and Benson came in to say that a clergyman was waiting downstairs.
“Little Golightly again!” said Lord Robert wearily. “Are these everlasting arrangements never——”
The man stopped him. It was not Mr. Golightly; it was a stranger; would not give his name; looked like a Catholic priest; had been there before, he thought.
“Can it be—-Talk of the devil——”
“Ask him up,” said Drake. And while Drake bit his lip and clinched his hands, and Lord Robert took up a scent bottle and sprayed himself with eau de cologne, they saw a man clad in the long coat of a priest come into the room—calm, grave, self-possessed, very pale, with hollow and shaven cheeks and dark and sunken eyes, which burned with a sombre fire, and head so closely cropped as to seem to be almost bald.
John Storm's anger had cooled. As he crossed the park the heat of his soul had turned to fear, and while he stood in the hall below, with an atmosphere of perfume about him, and even a delicate sense of a feminine presence, his fear had turned to terror. On that account he had refused to send up his name, and on going up the staircase, lined with prints, he had been tempted to turn about and fly lest he should come upon Glory face to face. But finding only the two men in the room above, his courage came back and he hated himself for his treacherous thought of her.
“You will forgive me for this unceremonious visit, sir,” he said, addressing himself to Drake.