Fighting against the faintness that came over her as she realized instantly that the news might be but half told, she said she would see the visitor, and, after a few moments of sickening fear, nerving herself bravely to hear the worst, she went down to the room where the messenger of evil waited.
As she entered, the man was standing with his back to the door, scrutinizing a picture. It was not till Alexia had come some way into the room that he turned, and with a thrill more of disgust than fear she recognized him.
“Mr. Gastineau!”
He smiled and took a step towards her, holding out his hand. “Paul Gastineau, Countess, risen from the dead.”
She ignored his outstretched hand, affecting to look at his note which she held. “You have come to tell me of Mr. Herriard?” she said, hoping now that the message might have been but a trick to induce her to see him. “He has met with an accident?” she asked, with a touch of incredulity.
Gastineau gave a little sympathetic shrug. “Poor Geoffrey! Yes, I’m afraid he has had a bad experience. I have had a telegram—you know we have of late been great chums, if not more—a telegram to say the meeting was broken up and Herriard hurt. I thought I could do no less than come round to tell you.”
Looking at him steadily, she told herself that he was lying. “You need not have brought the message yourself; you might have sent it,” she observed coldly.
He was evidently stung by her tone, for he returned, with a touch of feeling, “In view of the relations which I understand exist between you and Herriard I should scarcely have cared to give you what may prove to be very serious news in an off-hand fashion. I regret that my well-meant errand has met with so ungracious a reception.”
“I am sorry to hear that Mr. Herriard has been hurt,” Alexia said stiffly. “Is that all?”
“Is it not enough?”