“Yes,” said I, still not understanding; “I am one of his guests. Please show me the way to the Terrace.”
He looked at me pityingly.
“I’m sorry, madame; but it is impossible for you to join them now. No one may go there unless accompanied by a Member, and the Member you mention may not be sent for.”
This seemed ludicrous, but so final was his manner, that I became frightened lest I had really lost my entertainment.
So final was his manner that I became frightened.
Whether my look of utter despair appealed to his better nature, or whether he feared I was about to burst into tears, I don’t know,—but I could see that he began to waver a little.
I thought of bribery and corruption, and wondered if so austere an individual ought to be approached along those lines. I remembered that an Englishman had spoken to me thus:
“I don’t know of anybody in London who would refuse a fee, except a club servant or the King, and,” he added reflectively, “I’ve never tried the King—personally.”
Assisted by this knowledge, I somehow found myself being led down dark and devious staircases which gave suddenly out upon the broad, light Terrace. My guide then disappeared like an Arab, and I happily sauntered along in search of Mr. and Mrs. M. P.