"Wait in here till I call you!"
She took him at his word. There was no other course. He closed the door
upon her and turned back alone.
He sat down in the chair that he had placed for her and became motionless
as a figure carved in bronze. His pale face and trim, colourless beard
were in shadow, his eyes were lowered. There was scarcely an inanimate
object in the room as insignificant and unimposing as he, and yet in his
stillness, in his utter unobtrusiveness, there lay a strength such as the
strongest knight who ever rode in armour might have envied.
There came a careless step without, a hand upon the door. It opened, and
Sir Eustace, handsome, self-assured, slightly haughty, strode into the
room.
"Hullo, Stumpy! What do you want? I can't stop. I am booked to play
billiards with Miss de Vigne. A test match to demonstrate the steadiness
of my nerves!"
Scott stood up. "I have a bigger test for you than that, old chap," he
said. "Shut the door if you don't mind!"
Sir Eustace sent him a swift, edged glance. "I can't stop," he said
again. "What is it? Some mare's nest about Isabel?"
"No, nothing whatever to do with Isabel. Shut the door, man! I must be
alone with you for a few minutes." Scott spoke with unwonted vehemence.
The careless notes of the piano, the merry tumult of chattering voices,
seemed to affect him oddly, almost to exasperate him.
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