And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. It is my business to know most people. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. In the corner of the room were two hockey-sticks and a tennis-racket, and upon the walls Ann Veronica, by means of autotypes, had indicated her proclivities in art. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. There was a fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock about this. But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. Best assured of that.
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