"It's done me good to see you," he exclaimed.
The friendly butler informed Trent in confidence that Lady Daphne was not yet down. His lordship was already riding in the Row.
"Her ladyship has not been informed of your arrival," said the butler. "She is expected down in a few minutes. I have ordered kidneys and bacon en brochette for you, sir."
"This feels like being really at home," the American said. "I have wanted that for breakfast every morning I've been away and never once had the luck to get it."
Below stairs the butler informed the housekeeper, who later retailed it to maids, that Mr. Anthony seemed very nervous. A footman openly rejoiced when he overheard the butler's conversation with the housekeeper that his duties would enable him to witness the meeting of his mistress and the American.
"There will be nobody in the breakfast room when her ladyship enters but Mr. Anthony," his superior said firmly. "Haven't you got any romance in you, Simpkins?"
"Yes," answered the footman simply, "that's why I want to see them."
Anthony Trent was sitting in a big winged chair by the fire when Daphne entered. She walked to the table and picked up some letters without seeing him. At every mail she expected to hear from him and now was another of these continual disappointments. Invitations, letters from friends and relatives, but never a one from the man she loved.
Watching her Anthony Trent was a victim to many emotions. The rumor which he had confidently disputed that she was engaged to Rudolph Castoon now assumed a guise of probability. Why not? He had left her expecting never to see her again. He had convinced her of the unsurmountable barrier between them, a barrier which still existed. What a fool he had been to twist the earl's statement about Arthur into something that spelled hope when none was intended.