“Not at home, sir,” repeated the butler, pompously.
“To ordinary visitors, perhaps,” said Chester, whose temper was rising at the man’s manner; “but she will see me.”
“I told you twice over that our young lady wasn’t at home, sir,” said the butler, more offensive in speech and manner than ever.
“Yes,” said Chester, still quietly, “and I know perfectly well that this is only the customary formal reply to ordinary callers. My business is important, and I tell you that Miss Clareborough will see me, so take my card up at once.”
“Look here, sir,” said the man, insolently; “I have had my orders, and I know what to do. Once more: not at home.”
“Am I to understand that you refuse to take up my card?”
“Yes, sir; that’s it. They’ve seen your card, and master said he didn’t know you, and if you came again the family was not at home.”
“I have nothing to do with your master or his brother, my good fellow. My business is with Miss Clareborough, and I insist on seeing her.”
“Not at home,” said the man, shortly; and he drew back to close the door.
But firmly convinced that the lady he desired to see was a prisoner, Chester in his excitement stepped forward, and, to the man’s astonishment, entered the hall.