"No," said Frank; "but it must be in the West-end somewhere, of course. He must be going to Leycester's rooms. I wonder what prevented him from meeting us."
Stella wondered too, little dreaming that Leycester was pacing up and down the platform at Waterloo at that moment, and impatiently awaiting the arrival of the train that was, he thought, to bring his love.
"I expect," said Frank, "that something turned up at the last moment—something to do with the ceremony."
A sudden dash of color came into Stella's face, but it went again the next moment, and she leant back and watched the people hurrying along the streets, with eyes that scarcely saw them.
The brougham, a well appointed one, driven by a man in plain livery, seemed to wind about a great deal and cover a long stretch of ground, but at last it drove under an archway and into a quiet square, and stopped before one of a series of tall and dingy-looking houses.
Frank let down the window as the old man opened the door.
"Is this Bruton street?" said Frank.
"Yes, sir," said the man, quietly.
Frank stepped out and looked around.