I had nothing better to do than to watch for new arrivals.  My eyes were lazily fixed on the door, and presently it opened.  A figure, all fur and a yard wide, came in.

It was the figure of Monsieur Charretier.

CHAPTER X

For a minute everything swam before me, as it used to at the Convent after some older girl had twisted up the ropes of the big swing, with me in it, and let me spin round.  Also, I felt as if a jugful of hot water had been dashed over my head.  I seemed to feel it trickling through my hair and into my ears.

If I could have moved, I believe I should have bolted like a frightened rabbit, perfectly regardless of what Lady Turnour might think, caring only to dart away without being caught by the man I’d done such wild deeds to escape.  But I was as helpless as a person in a nightmare; and, indeed, it was as unreal and dreadful to me as a nightmare to see that fat, fur-coated figure walking toward me, with the bearded face of Monsieur Charretier showing between turned-up collar and motor-cap surmounted by lifted goggles.

They say you have time to think of everything while you are drowning.  I believe that, now, because I had time to think of everything while that furry gentleman took a dozen steps.  I thought of all the things he and my cousins had ever done to disgust me with him during his “courtship.”  I asked myself whether his arrival here was a coincidence, or whether he’d been tracking me all along, step by step, while I’d been chuckling to myself over my lucky escape.  I thought of what he would do when he recognized me, and what Lady Turnour would say, and Sir Samuel.  And although I couldn’t see exactly what good he could do in such a situation, I wished vaguely that my brother the chauffeur were on the spot.  Then suddenly, with a wild rush of joy, I remembered that I was facing the danger through my little talc window.

Any properly trained heroine of melodrama would have ejaculated “Saved!” but I haven’t a tragedy nose, and I gave only a stifled squeak, more like the swan-song of a dying frog than anything more romantic.

Nobody heard it, luckily; and Monsieur Charretier, who had just come into the twilight of the hall from the brighter light out of doors, bustled past the retiring figure of the lady’s-maid without a glance.  I had even to take a step out of his way, not to be brushed by his fur shoulder, so wide he was in his expensive motoring coat; and trembling from the shock, I awkwardly collided with Lady Turnour.  She, in her turn, avoiding my onslaught as if I’d been a beggar in rags, stepped on Monsieur Charretier’s toe.

He exclaimed in French, she apologized in English.

He bowed a great deal, assuring madame that she had not inconvenienced him.  She accused her maid, whose stupidity was in fault; and because each one looked to the other rich and prosperous they were extremely polite to one another.  Even then, though her ladyship snapped at me, “What has come over you, Elise?  You’re as clumsy as a cow!” he had no notice to waste upon the femme de chambre.  Yet I dared not so much as murmur, “Pardon!” lest he should recognize my voice.