That afternoon about five o'clock, in a certain handsome drawing-room in
Portland Place, Reine was flitting about restlessly with flushed cheeks,
now re-arranging the roses in some jar, now picking up her embroidery
and putting a few stitches in it, then going to the window and looking
out. The afternoon tea equipage was on a little table beside her, but
she did not help herself to a cup. She was evidently waiting for some
one.
At last there was a sound of wheels stopping, and Reine's trembling
hands dropped her work into her basket. A ring came to the door, and
Reine was in the middle of the room, pressing her hands together, and
listening to the closing of the door with impatient delight.
"Miss Helen Gaythorne!" announced the servant, who knew that his
mistress's young sister was expected, and who had not asked Hetty for
her name. In the excitement of the moment Hetty heard, but hardly
understood the announcement. She thought the servant had made a curious
blunder.
"Mr. Enderby will come in the evening," began Hetty advancing shyly, and
then, as the servant disappeared, she raised her eyes and saw Reine.
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