IN STRANGE SURROUNDINGS.
Feeling as if the world were quite a new and different one, and she equally new and strange, Doris left Barton the following morning, Mrs. Jelf driving her to the station in a little pony-cart, and obviously weeping as the train left the station.
It was not a particularly long journey, and the time passed very quickly, as it seemed to Doris, for she was thinking all the time, dwelling on the past and considering what the future would be like, and when they reached Waterloo she was about to ask a porter for a cab, when a footman came up to the carriage, and, touching his hat, inquired if she were Miss Marlowe.
“The carriage is quite close, miss,” he said, with evident respect, after a glance at the slim, graceful, black-clad figure and delicately refined face. “She’s a lady, anyhow,” was his mental comment.
The carriage was an admirably appointed one, the horses evidently as good as money could buy, and the get-up of the equipage quiet and reserved, corresponding with the dark liveries of the coachman and footman.
They went, at a smart, businesslike pace, through the crowded Strand, and, entering the sacred regions of the upper ten, pulled up at one of the largest houses in Chester Gardens.
Now, there is one advantage, at any rate, in being an actress: that nothing surprises you. No grandeur can overwhelm a person who has been nightly playing with kings and queens—perhaps enacted a queen herself; and though the first glimpse of the interior of Lady Despard’s town house was rather startling, Doris was capable of concealing her surprise. The house was new, and magnificently furnished after the latest art craze. The hall was intended to represent the outer court of a Turkish harem, with richly chased arches, marble passages, tropical ferns, and a plashing fountain. Brilliantly colored rugs made splashes of color on the cool marble, and here and there a huge but graceful vase lent variety to the decorations. It certainly rather reminded you of one of the divisions of a Turkish bath; but Lady Despard couldn’t help that.
As Doris passed through this oriental hall she heard the sound of an organ, and found that one stood in a dimly-lighted recess. A young man was playing, and he scarcely raised his eyes from the keys as he glanced at her.
“Miss Marlowe,” said the footman, opening a door on the left of the hall, and Doris entered a room as dimly lighted as the organ recess; so dark, in fact, that for a moment she could distinguish nothing; the next, however, she saw a lady rise from a low divan and approach her.
Doris could not make out her features, but she heard a very pleasant and musical voice say: