"You can't make yourself out too bad. If you don't pitch it hot and
strong, her ladyship might quite likely forgive you. Then where would
you be?"
Miss Maud Chilvers, of Aldershot, burst into Roland's life like one of
the shells of her native heath two days later at about five in the
afternoon.
It was an entrance of which any stage-manager might have been proud of
having arranged. The lighting, the grouping, the lead-up--all were
perfect. The family had just finished tea in the long drawing-room.
Lady Kimbuck was crocheting, Lord Evenwood dozing, Lady Eva reading,
and Roland thinking. A peaceful scene.
A soft, rippling murmur, scarcely to be reckoned a snore, had just
proceeded from Lord Evenwood's parted lips, when the door opened, and
Teal announced, "Miss Chilvers."
Roland stiffened in his chair. Now that the ghastly moment had come, he
felt too petrified with fear even to act the little part in which he
had been diligently rehearsed by the obliging Mr. Teal. He simply sat
and did nothing.
It was speedily made clear to him that Miss Chilvers would do all the
actual doing that was necessary.
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