The amazing contrast between this palatial residence and the desperate, homeless girl he had encountered in Madison Square little more than forty-eight hours before, struck Barry anew with startling force, and made him hesitate at the foot of the broad, shallow sweep of marble steps.
A dozen doubts and questions flashed through his mind in that brief pause. Then, with a swift, characteristic flinging back of his head, he thrust them from him in a flash.
"What a fool I am!" he muttered angrily. "I swore I'd never doubt her again, and I won't."
A second later he reached the entrance, and firmly pressed the electric button.
CHAPTER XXIX.
LAWRENCE PLEADS.
Almost on the instant of Lawrence's ringing the bell, the door was swung open by a footman in rich, quiet livery, who stood aside while Barry entered, and, having closed the door, led the way down the paneled hall.
"Is Miss Rives at home?" Lawrence asked briefly.
"This way, if you please," said the footman noncommittally, indicating a tiny elevator hidden behind hangings of rich damask.
The car ascended noiselessly, and Lawrence stepped out into a wide hall, the walls of which were lined with tapestries, while underfoot were heavy Persian rugs, laid upon some sort of matting which made them thick and soft as velvet. The footman took Barry's card, and, crossing noiselessly to a doorway, drew aside the hangings.