He passed along the shady avenue, and the house door was opened to him by a Basque maid-servant, who led him to the drawing-room.

Here, in a dim light which filtered through the interstices of shutters, sat the lady of the house alone.
"Is it Mr.Warburton ?" she asked, rising feebly, and speaking in a thin, fatigued, but kindly voice.

"So kind of you to come.

My husband will be delighted to see you.

How did you get up here on such a day?
Oh, the terrible heat!" In a minute or two the door opened to admit Mr.Coppinger, and the visitor, his eyes now accustomed to the gloom, saw a ruddy, vigorous, middle-aged man, dressed in flannels, and wearing the white shoes called _espadrilles_.
"Hoped you would come," he cried, shaking hands cordially.