heart-beat, that Ambrose descended to the terrace from his car. His life in this house had been so fraught with adventure and excitement that he could scarcely hope to accomplish his return to it without experiencing anxiety.
The footman removed his coat as he entered the great hall, brilliantly lighted, but empty. He wondered if he had chosen the wrong evening to make his appearance. Certainly no orchestra was performing, an ominous sign. Seating himself uneasily in a comfortable needle-point arm-chair, he awaited developments. He was not kept waiting long.
Imperia greeted him effusively, but her costume, indicating an informal occasion, confirmed his suspicions. She was dressed in a floating robe of lilac Chinese crêpe, bordered at the throat and the shoulders and the train with the filaments of ostrich feathers of the colour of Chinese vermilion. She carried a huge Spanish paper fan, ultramarine on the one side, orange on the other.
I hope you'll forgive me, Imperia was saying, but I want to talk with you, and so I didn't ask anybody else. We shall dine together. It is better so, isn't it?
Ambrose nodded helplessly.
I am, I believe, what you call in trouble, she continued prettily.
