Hetty dragged herself to her feet. She was utterly exhausted with her fight, but there was the fierce triumph of knowing that she had won. She had played her part and the rest of it was in cleverer hands than her own.
Meanwhile the Countess was tugging with impatient fingers at the hasp of the drawing-room windows. There was murder in her heart.
"The little Jezebel," she muttered. "Was it madness, or what? At last!"
The window flew open and she raced down the garden like a hare.
[CHAPTER XXIII.]
TEN MINUTES PAST TWELVE.
Mr. Garrett Charlton sat in Lawrence's chamber the same evening impatiently waiting for him in response to a telegram. It was already long past eleven, and the visitor was thinking of departing, when Lawrence came in.
He had evidently hurried fast, for he was out of breath. He signified to his companion to sit down, and lighted a cigarette.
"I couldn't possibly come before," he said. "I've been busy all the evening on this business, and as it was I had to leave a little matter to chance. I fancy that you will not be sorry that I persuaded you to stay in London."