There was not the faintest perceptible start at the sound, not an increase of color at the knowledge of her lover's coming. She lifted her head to welcome him, and started, quivering in every nerve in her body, her face flushing crimson, as she saw who it was that had pushed aside the heavy portière and stood there in her fiancé's place.
It was Leith Pierrepont.
He came forward with the easy, nonchalant grace that was peculiar to him, the indolent smile upon his mouth, looking handsomer than he had ever done in his life before, and a woman would of necessity have been made of granite not to have seen it.
He put out his hand as he joined Carlita beside the fire, and because she could not refuse, she put her fingers into it.
She noticed that his hand had closed over hers firmly, in spite of the fact that she had only intended that he should touch it; and while he did not retain it, he was in no hurry whatever to loosen his grasp of the cold palm.
"Jessica and Mrs. Chalmers are not here," she stammered, angry with herself that she could not keep her voice steady.
"I know it," he replied, indolently. "They are at the opera. Jessica never misses 'Aïda.' It is a favorite of mine, too, and Nordica is excellent in it."
"And yet you are not there?"
"There are some things that I prefer even to a well-rendered opera. Olney will not be here this evening."
"Why?"