CHAPTER LIV.
IRVING AND HIS MOTHER.
I knew that the Clares had a town house in Picadilly, and quietly stealing out in the morning, when Chaleco was out, I called a hackney coach and drove there at once. A ponderous man, in mourning livery, opened the door, and looked well disposed to order me down the steps when he saw my humble equipage. But there was a native haughtiness in me that men of his class are sure to recognize, and though new to the world, I was neither timid nor awkward; besides assumption of any kind was certain to arouse all the contempt and resistance of my fiery nature.
I inquired for Lady Clare.
“She was in, and at breakfast; would I call again?”
“No; I must see the lady then.”
“An appointment?”
“No; but still my interview with this lady must be at once.”
“He did not think she would admit me, her ladyship and Mr. Irving had been closeted with their solicitors all the morning.”
“You will send up my name and inquire,” I said weary with his objections, and conscious that this was my time to speak with Lady Catherine when fresh from her consultation with the lawyers.
My imperious manner impressed him; he inquired my name.