“I don’t think there could be anything heard up-stairs, miss.  I should, of course, warn her grace that her ladyship was ill.”

“Well, then, Hutton, please ask her to come in,” said Miss Le Breton, hurriedly.  “And, Hutton, Dr. Meredith and Mr. Montresor, you know how disappointed they’ll be not to find Lady Henry at home?”

“Yes, miss.  They’ll want to know how her ladyship is, no doubt.  I’ll tell them you’re in the library.  And Captain Warkworth, miss?—­he’s never missed a Wednesday evening for weeks.”

“Oh, well, if he comes—­you must judge for yourself, Hutton,” said Miss Le Breton, occupying herself with the electric switches.  “I should like to tell them all—­the old friends—­how Lady Henry is.”

The butler’s face was respectful discretion itself.

“Of course, miss.  And shall I bring tea and coffee?”

“Oh no,” said Miss Le Breton, hastily; and then, after reflection, “Well, have it ready; but I don’t suppose anybody will ask for it.  Is there a good fire in the library?”

“Oh yes, miss.  I thought you would be coming down there again.  Shall I take some of these flowers down?  The room looks rather bare, if anybody’s coming in.”

Julie colored a little.

“Well, you might—­not many.  And, Hutton, you’re sure we can’t disturb Lady Henry?”

Hutton’s expression was not wholly confident.

“Her ladyship’s very quick of hearing, miss.  But I’ll shut those doors at the foot of the back stairs, and I’ll ask every one to come in quietly.”

“Thank you, Hutton—­thank you.  That’ll be very good of you.  And, Hutton—­”

“Yes, miss.”  The man paused with a large vase of white arums in his hand.

“You’ll say a word to Dixon, won’t you?  If anybody comes in, there’ll be no need to trouble Lady Henry about it.  I can tell her to-morrow.”

“Very good, miss.  Dixon will be down to her supper presently.”

The butler departed.  Julie was left alone in the now darkened room, lighted only by one lamp and the bright glow of the fire.  She caught her breath—­suddenly struck with the audacity of what she had been doing.  Eight or ten of these people certainly would come in—­eight or ten of Lady Henry’s “intimates.”  If Lady Henry discovered it—­after this precarious truce between them had just been patched up!

Julie made a step towards the door as though to recall the butler, then stopped herself.  The thought that in an hour’s time Harry Warkworth might be within a few yards of her, and she not permitted to see him, worked intolerably in heart and brain, dulling the shrewd intelligence by which she was ordinarily governed.  She was conscious, indeed, of some profound inner change.  Life had been difficult enough before the Duchess had said those few words to her.  But since!

Suppose he had deceived her at Lady Hubert’s party!  Through all her mounting passion her acute sense of character did not fail her.  She secretly knew that it was quite possible he had deceived her.  But the knowledge merely added to the sense of danger which, in this case, was one of the elements of passion itself.