With an
exclamation Victoria did not catch, he retreated to the threshold of the
house.
She mounted rapidly, not noticing that a telegraph boy on a bicycle had
come wheeling into the forecourt behind her.
"Is Mr. Melrose at home?"
As she threw back her veil, Dixon stared at her in dumb amazement. Then
she suddenly perceived behind him a tall figure advancing. She made a few
steps forward through the dimly lighted hall, and found herself within a
foot of Edmund Melrose himself.
He gave a start--checked himself--and stood staring at her. He wore
spectacles, and was leaning on a stick. She had a quick impression of
physical weakness and decay.
Without any visible embarrassment she held out her hand.
"I am lucky to have found you at home, Mr. Melrose. Will you give me
twenty minutes' conversation on some important business?"
"Excuse me!" he said with a profound bow, and a motion of the left
hand toward the stick on which he supported himself--"or rather my
infirmities."
Victoria's hand dropped.
His glittering eyes surveyed her. Dixon approached him holding out a
telegram.
"Allow me," said Melrose, as he tore open the envelope and perused
the message. "Ah! I thought so! You were mistaken, Lady Tatham--for
another visitor--one of those foreign fellows who waste so much of
my time--coming to see a few little things of mine. Shut the door,
Dixon--the man has missed his train. Now, Lady Tatham!--you have some
business to discuss with me.
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