"May I call upon you at eleven o'clock to-morrow?" inquired Mrs. Monmouth.
"Is it important?" asked the voice.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, in the solitude of her room, smiled slightly.
"I shall leave you to judge of that," she replied.
"Very good," answered the voice. "I shall expect you at eleven precisely."
On the following morning Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, quietly, but expensively, dressed, presented herself at the hotel bureau.
Three minutes later the lift door closed upon her and she was wafted swiftly upward to the third floor. A page boy conducted her along a corridor, opened a door, and departed.
The apartment into which she had been shown overlooked the Haymarket. Decorations of white and gold caught Mrs. Monmouth's vision. Seated at a desk from whence he could look down upon the busy life of the street below was a broad-shouldered, elderly man, who laid down his pen as his visitor entered.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth hurried towards him.
"It is so good of you to see me, doctor," she exclaimed, effusively.