Mlle. Dorian was a figure
calculated to fire the imagination of any man and to linger long and
sweetly in the memory.
Mrs. M'Gregor, palpably ill at ease, conducted her to an armchair.
"You are very good," said the visitor, speaking with a certain
hesitancy and with a slight accent most musical and fascinating.
"I wait a while if I may."
"Dear, dear," muttered Mrs. M'Gregor, beginning to poke the fire, "he
has let the fire down, of course! Is it out? No ... I see a wee
sparkie!"
She set the poker upright before the nearly extinguished fire and
turned triumphantly to Mlle. Dorian, who was watching her with a
slight smile.
"That will be a comforting blaze in a few minutes, Miss Dorian," she
said, and went towards the door.
"If you please," called the girl, detaining her--"do you permit me to
speak on the telephone a moment? As Dr. Stuart is not at home, I must
explain that I wait for him."
"Certainly, Miss Dorian," replied Mrs. M'Gregor; "use the telephone
by all means. But I think the doctor will be back any moment now."
"Thank you so much."
Mrs. M'Gregor went out, not without a final backward glance at the
elegant figure in the armchair. Mlle. Dorian was seated, her chin
resting in her hand and her elbow upon the arm of the chair, gazing
into the smoke arising from the nearly extinguished ember of the fire.
The door closed, and Mrs. M'Gregor's footsteps could be heard receding
along the corridor.
Mlle.
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