It was merely because she did not know
what else to do, having just lost her wits entirely that she got
up and trailed down the staircase again.
When she opened the door, Lord Coombe--the apotheosis of exquisite
fitness in form and perfect appointment as also of perfect
expression--was standing on the threshold.
CHAPTER VI
If he had meant to speak he changed his mind after his first sight
of her. He merely came in and closed the door behind him. Curious
experiences with which life had provided him had added finish to
an innate aptness of observation, and a fine readiness in action.
If she had been of another type he would have saved both her and
himself a scene and steered ably through the difficulties of the
situation towards a point where they could have met upon a normal
plane. A very pretty woman with whose affairs one has nothing
whatever to do, and whose pretty home has been the perfection of
modern smartness of custom, suddenly opening her front door in
the unexplained absence of a footman and confronting a visitor,
plainly upon the verge of hysteria, suggests the necessity of
promptness.
But Feather gave him not a breath's space. She was in fact not
merely on the verge of her hysteria. She had gone farther. And
here he was. Oh, here he was! She fell down upon her knees and
actually clasped his immaculateness.
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