“I don’t know; someone must have seen me, and told him; I don’t know who, Len. I’m going out.”
“Now, Jack?” said Leonard, fearfully.
Jack smiled.
“No, Len; I won’t cut it again without telling you and saying ‘good-by.’ I’m only going for a walk; and I’ll be back to dinner.”
Leonard looked after him, still rather anxiously; there was a look of determination on the pale, thoughtful face which alarmed him.
Jack walked to Regent street—please mark that he didn’t call a hansom; though Len had pressed some money upon him—and then into Piccadilly, and still with the thoughtful look of determination on his face, into Park Lane, and ascended the steps of Lady Bell’s villa.
A footman, who knew not Jack, opened the door, and Jack, who had not any cards, gave his name, which the footman gave to Lady Bell’s maid as “Mr. Bluecut.”
Jack walked into the drawing-room, every article of which was familiar to him; and sat down in the chair which he had so often drawn close to Lady Bell’s, only a few months back; and yet how long, long ago it seemed.
Presently the door opened, and Lady Bell came in.
He saw her in the glass before she saw him.