Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new rôle as yet.
“Who is it, Martha?” he said, mastering his agitation.
“Mr. Mortimer!” mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, “at least that’s what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn’t got a card!”
Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset her coffee.
“Don’t let him come in!” she cried in French.
“Did you say I was in?” Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who was staring at the dancer.
“Why, yes, sir,” the woman answered.
Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
“Where is this Mr. Mortimer?” he asked
“In the library, sir!”