stay to--"

She paused reflectively, the tip of her pen-handle between her teeth,
her eyes fixed absently upon the green park beyond the open window,
composing a gorgeous costume in her mind. Before she could even
decide whether to advise a ball-dress with CREPE DE CHINE, or a
tea-gown with Oriental cashmere, one of the noiseless library doors
swung back, and a man came in. Without noticing her still figure, he
strolled over to a certain shelf, opened a book that he wanted, and
stood, with his back to her, turning over the leaves.

So he had not gone with the men. How horrid! And what a nuisance that
he should find her here! Well, she was not going to put herself out for
him. She lowered her pen softly, and began to scratch the paper, over
which she bent absorbedly. He turned round. "Oh, I beg your pardon--"

"Oh, it's you, Claud! Good morning! Why, I thought you would be out
with the guns this fine day."

"Fine day, do you call it? There's a wind like a knife. And you sit
here with the window wide open--"

He marched towards it, and shut it with violence. It was a great glass
door between stone mullions. Above it and two fellow-sheets of
glittering transparency, three coats of many quarterings enriched the
colour-scheme of the stately room. She watched him with the beginning
of a smile upon her lips. The humour of the situation appealed to her.

"I like an open window," she remarked mildly. "If you remember, I
always did."