"Dearest Clodagh," she read.
"I must seem a perfect beast. But my old Aunt Deborah—with whom I can't afford to quarrel!—has announced her stupid intention of spending a day in town. And of course it must be this day of all days! Do be a darling and show you forgive me by coming round to dine at eight-thirty. Lord Deerehurst returned yesterday from the famous two months' rest-cure, looking younger than ever. He and Val will be here to-night. Bridge after dinner. Don't fail to come.
"Yours,
"F. H."
As Clodagh read the last line of the letter, she lifted her head, and turned with a quick gesture to the maid who was waiting by the door.
"I want a fire lighted here and my tea brought to me immediately it is ready," she cried in a changed voice. "And send my maid in directly she arrives. I'm dining out!"
Without waiting for a reply, she crossed the room and paused beside one of the windows, looking down upon the park. Her spirits had risen; her excitement had been rekindled; she had been saved from the companionship she had learned to dread—companionship with herself.
CHAPTER IV
Lady Frances Hope's house was situated in Curzon Street; and thither Clodagh departed shortly after eight o'clock.
Again she chose a hansom as a means of conveyance, for as yet there had been no question of her procuring a carriage of her own; and again she became conscious of the peculiar stimulus, the peculiar power that the great tide of London life exercises upon its observers. The last glimmering of daylight was lingering in the sky as the cab passed up Knightsbridge, but already the houses and hotels were brilliantly lighted, and the stream of diners and theatre-goers was forming into its nightly procession.