"I think I shall be able to get out," responded Charlotte. "But her ladyship is an invalid; and Miss Mordaunt—her friend, or companion, or whatever she is—may want me to dress her for some ball or party; and so I cannot promise for sure."
"But you will try?"
"Yes," murmured the young woman; and she hurried on to the front-door of Lady Hatfield's house.
Curtis stopped at a short distance and watched her as she tripped along, her pretty feet and ankles peering from beneath the folds of her dress.
Now it happened that at the very moment when Charlotte was about to ring the bell, the front-door opened, and a livery-servant issued forth, doubtless upon some errand. After exchanging a word or two with Charlotte, he passed on, and the young woman entered the house. But ere she closed the door she turned a sly glance upon Frank Curtis, who, the instant he saw the livery-servant make his appearance, sauntered very leisurely along in the most innocent-looking manner in the world.
The livery-servant was now out of sight—and the pretty face of the lady's-maid lingered at the door which she kept ajar.
Curtis looked hastily around; and, the coast being tolerably clear at the moment, he darted up to the entrance.
Charlotte had merely remained on the threshold to give him a parting glance of intelligence for the purpose of assuring him of the sincerity of her promise that she would endeavour to meet him in the evening,—for the young lady was of an intriguing disposition, and flattered herself that she had captivated some very great, or at all events some very wealthy person:—but, when she saw him thus precipitately rush towards the entrance, she drew back and endeavoured to shut the door.
Frank was, however, too quick for her: and he fairly thrust himself into the hall, closing the street-door behind him.
"For God's sake, go away, sir," said Charlotte imploringly.