The old man glared at the visitor, for whom he used a title no more distinguished than “that woman,” and went off with a bad grace to do his master’s bidding.
“Parsons doesn’t like me in the least,” she said with a laugh. “I wonder why?”
Though Chisholm knew the reason, he only smiled, and turned aside the rather awkward question.
Then, when the old man had put his head into the room, announcing that his master’s coat was ready, Claudia Nevill was left alone.
“I wonder what’s on his mind?” she mused, sinking into a low chair before the fire and resting her elbows upon her knees. “Something unusual has certainly occurred. I wonder what story has come to his ears?—something about me, of course.” The white forehead so beautifully shaded by her dark hair, which had been well-dressed by her French maid, Justine, clouded slightly, and she stared straight before her, plunged in a deep reverie; she was indeed a voluptuous rêveuse. Life that was comme il faut had no attraction for her. She was reflecting upon all that he had said; upon the harsh criticisms and the ominous warnings of this man whom she had once believed she would marry. Yes, what he had said was only too true. Her conscience told her that she had been at fault; that she had set his affection at nought, and had, in her mad struggle for supremacy in society, flung prudence to the winds. And those ugly scandals whispered here and there? What of them? The mere thought of them caused her teeth to set firmly, and her shapely hands to clasp her cheeks with sudden vehemence.
“No,” she said aloud in a mournful voice; “his affection for me has been killed by my own mad folly. It cannot have survived all this deception. To-night is our last night together—the death of our love.”
At that moment Dudley re-entered, having exchanged his dinner-jacket for a white vest and dress-coat, in the lappel of which was a gardenia. Claudia roused herself quickly, and when she turned towards him her face betrayed no sign of the tristesse of a moment before.
“I’m quite ready,” he said, as, after buttoning his gloves and his coat, he turned towards the door to open it.
“This is my last visit to you, Dudley,” she said, sighing deeply and gazing round the room with a lingering glance. “My presence here is no longer welcome.”
What could he reply? He only looked at her in silence.