there was a different note underneath, something a little bitter,
unutterably scornful.

"My dear Samuel, it is true, without doubt, that you did your best.
I do not blame you at all. It was I who was foolish to leave such a
matter in your hands. It was not likely that among your
acquaintances there was one whom I would have cared to welcome to my
house. But that you should have gone to your employees--that,
indeed, is funny! You do amuse me very much. Come."

The door was pushed fully open now and a woman entered, at the sight
of whom Arnold forgot all his feelings of mingled annoyance and
amusement. She was of little over the medium height, exceedingly
slim--a slimness which was accentuated by the fashion of the gown
she wore. Her face was absolutely devoid of color, but her features
were almost cameo-like in their sensitive perfection. Her eyes were
large and soft and brown, her hair a Titian red, worn low and
without ornament. Her dress was of pale blue satin, which somehow
had the effect of being made in a single piece, without seam or
joining. Her neck and throat, exquisitely white, were bare except
for a single necklace of pearls which reached almost to her knees.
The look in Arnold's face, as she came slowly into the room, was one
of frank and boyish admiration. The woman came towards him with a
soft smile about her lips, but she was evidently puzzled. It was Mr.
Weatherley who spoke. There was something almost triumphant in his
manner.

"This is Mr. Chetwode, dear, of whom I was speaking to you," he
said. "Glad to see you, Chetwode," he added, with ponderous
condescension.