"Nothing could possibly be better," cried Mr. Benthall, in great glee. "I cannot tell you, Mr. Joyce, how much I am obliged to you for your disinterested co-operation in this matter."
"Perhaps my co-operation is not so disinterested as you imagine," said Joyce, with a grave smile. "Perhaps--but that's nothing now."
"Will you write to Lady Caroline Mansergh at once? Time presses, you know."
"Better than that, I will go up to London and see her. There will necessarily be a lull in the canvassing here for the next two or three days, and I shall be able to explain far more clearly than by letter. Besides, I shall take the opportunity of seeing our friends Potter and Fyfe, and hearing the best news from head-quarters."
"That is merely an excuse," said Mr. Benthall; "I am sure you are undertaking this journey solely with the view of serving these young ladies and me."
"And myself, my good friend," replied Joyce; "and myself, I assure you."
Lady Caroline Mansergh had a very charming little house in Chesterfield Street, Mayfair, thoroughly homeish and remarkably comfortable. Since she had been left a widow she had frequently passed the winter, as well as the season, in London, and her residence was accordingly arranged with a due regard to the miseries of our delightful climate. Her ladyship was in town, Joyce was glad to find; and after he had sent up his name, he was shown into a very cosy drawing-room, with a large fire blazing on the hearth, and all the draughts carefully excluded by means of portières and thick hanging curtains. He had merely time to notice that the room was eminently one to be lived in, and not kept merely for show--one that was lived in, moreover, as the sign of a woman's hand, everywhere recognisable, in the management of the flowers and the books, in the work-basket and the feminine writing arrangements, so different, somehow, from a man's desk and its appurtenances, plainly showed--when the door opened, and Lady Caroline entered the room.
She was looking splendidly handsome. In all the work and worry of his recent life, Joyce had lost all except a kind or general remembrance of her face and figure, and he was almost betrayed into an exclamation of astonishment as he saw her advancing towards him. There must have been something of this feeling in the expression of his face, for Lady Caroline's cheeks flushed for an instant, and the voice in which she bade him welcome, and expressed her pleasure of seeing him, was rather unsteady in its tone.
"I imagined you were at Brocksopp," she said, after a minute; "indeed I have some idea that quite recently I saw a report in the paper of some speech of yours, as having been delivered there."
"Perfectly correct: I only came up last night."