The cabman checked the pace of his horse and, opening the little door, looked down.
"Don't mind the Apollo," she said. "Drive to Carlton House Terrace instead."
The man muttered an assent, and, wheeling his horse to the right, cut across the traffic.
Five or six minutes passed while the cab threaded its way across the Green Park, past Buckingham Palace into St. James's Park; then Clodagh gained her first close view of Deerehurst's town house. For one moment she felt daunted by the unfamiliarity of its aspect; but the next, she rallied her determination, and, stepping from the cab, paid her fare and walked resolutely across the pavement to the imposing door.
It was opened at once by a servant in very sombre and decorous livery; who, having thrown the door wide, looked at her, then looked at the cab, just wheeling away from the kerb. There was nothing uncivil in the man's glance—nothing that one could reasonably complain of—yet, to her intense annoyance, Clodagh coloured.
"Is Lord Deerehurst at home?" she asked.
The servant's eyes left the retreating cab.
"Have you an appointment with his lordship?"
"If he is in, Lord Deerehurst will see me. I am Mrs. Milbanke."
At the coldness of her tone, and her ready mention of her name, his manner changed, though a flicker of curiosity passed across his face.