"Certainly you can see them," Mr. Stuart answers promptly; "they will be delighted, I am sure. They might not feel at liberty to call upon you, Lady Catheron, of course, but all the same they will only be too happy if Lady Catheron will so far honor them."
He says this in the old lazy, pleasant voice, but it is quite evident he does not mean to spare her—his half-sarcastic accent makes her wince as though in actual bodily pain.
"I'll give you the address if you like," he goes on; "it's not the most aristocratic neighborhood in the world, but it's perfectly quiet and safe." He scribbles something in pencil. "Here it is—due east you see. Trix won't be home until seven; she's at work in a fancy shop in Sixth avenue, you know—no, you don't know of course, but she is, and I generally call round for her at closing-up time. But you're safe to find her at home any evening you may name, Lady Catheron, after seven P.M."
She takes the slip of paper very humbly—very unlike the Edith he used to know—her lips quivering, as he can see.
"May I go at once?" she asks in that humble little voice; "I can't wait. I want to see your mother, and I will stay until Trixy comes."
"My mother will be there, and charmed to see you. Of course you can go at once—why should you hesitate—it's very kind of you and all that I would escort you there if I could, but unhappily I'm on duty. You'll have no trouble at all finding it."
He is perfectly cordial—perfectly indifferent. He looks at her as he might look at Mrs. Featherbrain herself. Edith, it is all over for you!
"I thought you were in California," she says as she rises to go; "and that Trixy was married."
"No, I have never left New York, and Trix is pining in single blessedness still. We are going to alter all that shortly though—for further particulars, apply to Trix. Are you going? good-by, for the present, Lady Catheron."
She is out in the bright sunshine, feeling as though she were in a dream.