She held out her hand toward Tavernake, but did not rise.

There was something almost spiritual about her pallor, the delicate outline of her figure, so imperfectly concealed by the thin silk dressing-gown, the faint, tired smile with which she welcomed him.
"You will forgive my receiving you like this, Mr.Tavernake ?" she begged.

"To-day I have a headache.

I have been anxious for your coming.
You must sit by my side, please, and tell me at once whether you have seen Beatrice." Tavernake did exactly as he was bidden.

The chair toward which she had pointed was quite close to the sofa, but there was no other unoccupied in the room.