"I know; but I am told that you are in great request. Shall we be undisturbed?"
"Quite so. Will you come in?"
He stepped aside and she entered, raising her veil as she did so, though the darkness of the hall prevented his determining what manner of countenance she wore. The twilight that penetrated the office through uncurtained windows, however, discovered a delicate, pale face framed in tendrils of soft chestnut hair and alight with eyes of the same indescribable tint. It was not a strictly beautiful face, according to the canons of beauty, yet it was one of those faces one glance at which invites another, until the spell of fascination claims the beholder.
Loyd Morton had had impressionable days, but for obvious reasons they were at an end. Still, he was interested; and the better to study his visitor he was about to strike a match for the purpose of lighting a lamp, when the woman, with swift divination of his intent, exclaimed:
"I prefer the twilight," adding; "I shall not detain you long."
Morton hesitatingly replaced the unignited match, and glanced at his visitor in a manner eloquent of his desire to learn the object of her call.
She noted the silent interrogation in her keen way, and, after a swift survey of the shadowy apartment, continued:
"I believe you assured me that we should be undisturbed."
"I did, madam."
"We are not alone, however."