At the end of an interval of some four or five minutes, she rang.
The maid opened the door.
"Don't light up, Merton," she said, composedly. "I want you to tell
Garnham to go down to Mr. Leroux's and put the place in order. Mr.
Leroux is dining with us."
The girl withdrew; and Helen, as the door closed, pressed the electric
switch. She stared at her reflection in the mirror as if it were the
face of an enemy, then, turning her head aside, sat deep in reflection,
biting her lip and toying with the edge of the white doily.
"You little traitor!" she whispered, through clenched teeth. "You little
traitor--and hypocrite"--sobs began to rise in her throat--"and fool!"
Five more minutes passed in a silent conflict. A knock announced the
return of the maid; and the girl reentered, placing upon the table a
visiting-card:--
DENISE RYLAND
ATELIER 4, RUE DU COQ D'OR,
MONTMARTRE,
PARIS.
Helen Cumberly started to her feet with a stifled exclamation and turned
to the maid; her face, to which the color slowly had been returning,
suddenly blanched anew.
"Denise Ryland!" she muttered, still holding the card in her hand,
"why--that's Mrs. Leroux's friend, with whom she had been staying in
Paris! Whatever can it mean?"
"Shall I show her in here, please?" asked the maid.
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