The servant set his back to it, his face resolute.
"Sir Oliver, my mistress will not see you." "Out of my way!" he muttered in his angry, contemptuous fashion, and as the man persistent in his duty stood his ground, Sir Oliver took him by the breast of his jacket, heaved him aside and went in.
She was standing in mid-apartment, dressed by an odd irony all in bridal white, that yet was not as white as was her face.

Her eyes looked like two black stains, solemn and haunting as they fastened up on this intruder who would not be refused.

Her lips parted, but she had no word for him.

She just stared in a horror that routed all his audacity and checked the masterfulness of his advance.

At last he spoke.
"I see that you have heard," said he, "the lie that runs the countryside.