There was something in his attitude vaguely
suggestive of expectation. He never took his eyes from Sir John
Meredith's face, as if on the alert for an unspoken order.
Guy Oscard followed his companion into the hall, and the very scent
of the house--for each house speaks to more senses than one--made
his heart leap in his broad breast. It seemed as if Millicent's
presence was in the very air. This was more than he could have
hoped. He had not intended to call this afternoon, although the
visit was only to have been postponed for twenty-four hours.
Sir John Meredith's face was a marvel to see. It was quite steady.
He was upright and alert, with all the intrepidity of his mind up in
arms. There was a light in his eyes--a gleam of light from other
days, not yet burnt out.
He laid aside his gold-headed cane and threw back his shoulders.
"Is Mr. Meredith upstairs?" he said to the butler.
"Yes--sir."
The man moved towards the stairs.
"You need not come!" said Sir John, holding up his hand.
The butler stood aside and Sir John led the way up to the drawing-
room.
At the door he paused for a moment. Guy Oscard was at his heels.
Then he opened the door rather slowly, and motioned gracefully with
his left hand to Oscard to pass in before him.
Oscard stepped forward.
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