Almost at the moment of acknowledgment the door
opened to admit Lillian.
She wore the same gown of pale-colored cloth, warmed and
softened by rich furs, that she had worn on the day she and
Chilcote had driven in the park.
She was drawing on her gloves as she came into the room; and
pausing near the door, she looked across at Loder and, laughed
in her slow, amused way.
"I thought it would be you," she said, enigmatically.
Loder came forward. "You expected me?" he said, guardedly. A
sudden conviction filled him that it was not the evidence of
her eyes, but something at once subtler and more definite,
that prompted her recognition of him.
She smiled. "Why should I expect you? On the contrary, I'm
waiting to know why you're here?"
He was silent for an instant; then he answered in her own
light tone. "As far as that goes," he said, "let's make it my
duty call-having dined with you. I'm an old-fashioned
person."
For a full second she surveyed him amusedly; then at last she
spoke. "My dear Jack"--she laid particular stress on the
name--" I never imagined you punctilious.
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