Almost before she knew it, he had turned back to her and was courteously conversing.
She gave him her attention with difficulty.

Her ears were strained to catch the sound of Violet's approach.

She was possessed by a ridiculous longing to rush out to her, to keep her from entering this man's presence, to warn her--to warn her--Of what?
She had not the faintest idea.
By a great effort of will, she controlled herself, but the impulse yet remained--a striving, clamouring force, impotent but insistent.
There came the low, sweet notes of Violet's voice.

She was singing a Spanish love-song.
Sir Kersley Whitton fell silent.

He looked at the door.