A moment passed. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock
were the only sounds audible in the room.
The voice of the visitor--hard, clear, and quiet--was the first voice
that broke the silence.
"Mr. Julian Gray?" she said, looking interrogatively from one of the two
gentlemen to the other.
Julian advanced a few steps, instantly recovering his self-possession.
"I am sorry I was not at home," he said, "when you called with your
letter from the consul. Pray take a chair."
By way of setting the example, Lady Janet seated herself at some little
distance, with Horace in attendance standing near. She bowed to the
stranger with studious politeness, but without uttering a word, before
she settled herself in her chair. "I am obliged to listen to this
person," thought the old lady. "But I am _not_ obliged to speak to her.
That is Julian's business--not mine. Don't stand, Horace! You fidget me.
Sit down." Armed beforehand in her policy of silence, Lady Janet folded
her handsome hands as usual, and waited for the proceedings to begin,
like a judge on the bench.
"Will you take a chair?" Julian repeated, observing that the visitor
appeared neither to heed nor to hear his first words of welcome to her.
At this second appeal she spoke to him. "Is that Lady Janet Roy?" she
asked, with her eyes fixed on the mistress of the house.
Julian answered, and drew back to watch the result.
The woman in the poor black garments changed her position for the first
time. She moved slowly across the room to the place at which Lady Janet
was sitting, and addressed her respectfully with perfect self-possession
of manner. Her whole demeanor, from the moment when she had appeared at
the door, had expressed--at once plainly and becomingly--confidence in
the reception that awaited her.
"Almost the last words my father said to me on his death-bed," she
began, "were words, madam, which told me to expect protection and
kindness from you."
It was not Lady Janet's business to speak. She listened with the
blandest attention. She waited with the most exasperating silence to
hear more.
Grace Roseberry drew back a step--not intimidated--only mortified and
surprised. "Was my father wrong?" she asked, with a simple dignity
of tone and manner which forced Lady Janet to abandon her policy of
silence, in spite of herself.
"Who was your father?" she asked, coldly.
Grace Roseberry answered the question in a tone of stern surprise.
"Has the servant not given you my card?" she said. "Don't you know my
name?"
"Which of your names?" rejoined Lady Janet.
"I don't understand your ladyship."
"I will make myself understood. You asked me if I knew your name. I
ask you, in return, which name it is? The name on your card is 'Miss
Roseberry.' The name marked on your clothes, when you were in the
hospital, was 'Mercy Merrick.'"