"I have received your letter, and request you to excuse my calling upon you at your hotel this evening, as I am unwell; but if you will do me the honor to come to Vavasour House on receipt of this, I will discuss the matter in question with you, and trust you will believe that you may rely upon my justice.
"I remain, madam,
"Yours truly,
"Torquilstone."
"His grace's brougham is waiting below for you, madam," the waiter said, and I flew to Véronique.
I got her to dress me quickly. I wore the same things, exactly, as he had seen me in before—deep mourning they are, and extremely becoming.
In about ten minutes Véronique and I were seated in the brougham and rolling on our way. I did not speak.
I was evidently expected, for as the carriage stopped the great doors flew open and I could see into the dim and splendid hall.
A silver-haired, stately old servant led me along through a row of powdered footmen, down a passage all dimly lit with heavily shaded lights. (Véronique was left to their mercies.) Then the old man opened a door, and without announcing my name, merely, "The lady, your grace," he held the door, and then went out and closed it softly.
It was a huge room splendidly panelled with dark, carved boiserie Louis XV., the most beautiful of its kind I had ever seen—only it was so dimly lit with the same shaded lamps one could hardly see into the corners.