He pushed on laughingly, without answering. I followed him fast—"near Cavendish Square!"—the very part of the town where Lillian lived! I had had, as yet, a horror of going near it; but now an intolerable suspicion scourged me forward, and I dogged his steps, hiding behind pillars, and at the corners of streets, and then running on, till I got sight of him again. He went through Cavendish Square, up Harley Street—was it possible? I gnashed my teeth at the thought. But it must be so. He stopped at the dean's house, knocked, and entered without parley.
In a minute I was breathless on the door-step, and knocked. I had no plan, no object, except the wild wish to see my own despair. I never thought of the chances of being recognized by the servants, or of anything else, except of Lillian by my cousin's side.
The footman came out smiling, "What did I want?"
"I—I—Mr. Locke."
"Well you needn't be in such a hurry!" (with a significant grin). "Mr.
Locke's likely to be busy for a few minutes yet, I expect."
Evidently the man did not know me.
"Tell him that—that a person wishes to speak to him on particular business." Though I had no more notion what that business was than the man himself.
"Sit down in the hall."
And I heard the fellow, a moment afterwards, gossiping and laughing with the maids below about the "young couple."
To sit down was impossible; my only thought was—where was Lillian?