Walking back to the escritoire, he took up the letter and read aloud:
Murray Hill Hotel, June 18.
Kind Sir:
Father and I arrived in the city last night. He wishes me to call on you at three o’clock this afternoon; business of special importance to himself.
Respectfully,
LOUISE BONIFIELD.
To Vance Gilder, Esq.
“No,” he said aloud, “I do not remember Miss Louise Bonifield. It is doubtless very stupid of me, and all that, but if ever I even heard the name before, it certainly has passed from my memory. She says three o’clock,” and glancing at the French time-piece which helped to make up the furniture of his room, he saw it was preparing to strike the hour of three.
Scarcely had the sound of the mellow cathedral bell died away, when the door-bell clanged out like a harsh echo of the clock’s last stroke.
The servant brought in a card bearing the name of “Louise Bonifield,” and received instructions to admit the visitor at once.
The rustling of skirts was soon heard in the hallway.
With the deportment of a queen, she accepted the proffered chair and raised to Vance’s face a pair of laughing blue eyes that might be dangerous. The parting of her rosy lips displayed her ivory teeth to advantage, while her evident embarrassment tinged with pink her beautiful cheeks.