She had quite made up her mind to the worst, as may be seen from the projects already maturing themselves in her brain, as the consequence; nevertheless she thought it was just possible that his lordship might be unable to resist the expression of sorrow in eyes he had so vehemently admired; and, at any rate, there was something so ... so touching in the idea of this final interview, that she could not refuse herself the satisfaction of making the experiment.
Telling Agnes that she had a little shopping to do before their sight-seeing began, and that she would not take her, for fear she should be as stupidly fatigued as on the night before, she mounted to her bed-room, adorned herself in the most becoming costume she could devise, and with somewhat less rouge than usual, that the traitor might see how sorrow worked, set forth on her expedition.
Having reached Piccadilly, she called a coach, and in a few minutes was safely deposited before Mivart's door.
"Is Lord Mucklebury here?..." she inquired in a voice of authority of the first official she encountered.
"Yes, ma'am," was the answer. "His lordship is at breakfast."
"I must see him, if you please, directly!"
"Is it by appointment, ma'am?" questioned the discreet waiter, looking at her keenly.... "His lordship is just going to set off, and is too busy, I believe, to see anybody."
"He is not too busy to see me—I must see him directly!"
"Is it an appointment?" repeated the man, in an accent not the most respectful.
"Yes, it is," ... replied the unblushing widow.