At any rate, Mr. Fogo and his card entered the
Goodwyn-Sandys' drawing-room together.
I leave you to imagine his feelings. In one wild instant the scene
exploded on his senses. He staggered back against the door, securely
pinning the retreating page between it and the doorpost, and denuding
the Goodwyn-Sandys' livery of half a dozen buttons. The four
distracted visitors started up as if to escape by the window.
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys advanced.
She was white to the lips. A close observer might have read the
hunted look that for one brief moment swept over her face. But when
she spoke her words were cold and calm.
"You wish to see my husband, Mr.--?" She hesitated over the name.
"Not in the least," stammered Mr. Fogo.
There was an awful silence, during which he stared blankly around on
the ladies.
"Then may I ask--?"
"I desired to see Gerald--I mean, Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys--but--"
"I am Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys. Would you mind stating your business?"
Mr. Fogo started, dropped his hat, and leant back against the door
again.
"_You!_"
"Certainly." Her mouth worked slightly, but her eyes were steady.
"You are she that--was--once--Geraldine--O'Halloran?"
"Certainly."
"Excuse me, madam," said Mr. Fogo, picking up his hat and addressing
Mrs.
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