In the one instant while these events passed,
timid little Mrs. Ferrari mastered her own throbbing heart;
stepped over the threshold, conscious of her clammy hands, dry lips,
and burning head; and stood in the presence of Lord Montbarry's widow,
to all outward appearance as supremely self-possessed as her
ladyship herself.
It was still early in the afternoon, but the light in the room was dim.
The blinds were drawn down. Lady Montbarry sat with her back to
the windows, as if even the subdued daylight were disagreeable to her.
She had altered sadly for the worse in her personal appearance,
since the memorable day when Doctor Wybrow had seen her in his
consulting-room. Her beauty was gone--her face had fallen away
to mere skin and bone; the contrast between her ghastly complexion
and her steely glittering black eyes was more startling than ever.
Robed in dismal black, relieved only by the brilliant whiteness
of her widow's cap--reclining in a panther-like suppleness of
attitude on a little green sofa--she looked at the stranger who had
intruded on her, with a moment's languid curiosity, then dropped
her eyes again to the hand-screen which she held between her face
and the fire.
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