The Man in the Dining Room

IN the great emergencies of life we feel, or we act, as our dispositions
incline us. But we never think. Mercy's mind was a blank as she
descended the stairs. On her way down she was conscious of nothing but
the one headlong impulse to get to the library in the shortest possible
space of time. Arrived at the door, the impulse capriciously left her.
She stopped on the mat, wondering why she had hurried herself, with time
to spare. Her heart sank; the fever of her excitement changed suddenly
to a chill as she faced the closed door, and asked herself the question,
Dare I go in?

Her own hand answered her. She lifted it to turn the handle of the lock.
It dropped again helplessly at her side.

The sense of her own irresolution wrung from her a low exclamation of
despair. Faint as it was, it had apparently not passed unheard. The door
was opened from within--and Horace stood before her.

He drew aside to let her pass into the room. But he never followed her
in. He stood in the doorway, and spoke to her, keeping the door open
with his hand.

"Do you mind waiting here for me?" he asked.

She looked at him, in vacant surprise, doubting whether she had heard
him aright.

"It will not be for long," he went on. "I am far too anxious to hear
what you have to tell me to submit to any needless delays. The truth is,
I have had a message from Lady Janet."