"Very good, madam. For what reason do you desire me to accompany you to the roof?"
"I want you to—to look at something."
"If it is the view, madam, I should mention that I have already visited the top of the Woolworth Building."
"It is not the view. I wish you to look at a man who is living in open sin."
"Very good, madam." There was no surprise in Ferris's manner, only a courteous suggestion that he was always glad to look at men living in open sin. "I will be at your disposal in a few minutes."
He closed the door gently, and Mrs. Waddington, full of the coward rage which dares to burn but does not dare to blaze, abandoned her intention of kicking in a panel and stood on the landing, heaving gently. And presently there was borne up to her from the lower levels a cheerful sound of whistling.
Lord Hunstanton came into view.
"Hullo-ullo-ullo!" said Lord Hunstanton exuberantly. "Here I am, here I am, here I am!"—meaning, of course, that there he was.
A striking change had taken place in the man's appearance since Mrs. Waddington had last seen him. He now wore the care-free and debonair expression of one who has dined and dined well. The sparkle in his eye spoke of clear soup, the smile on his lips was eloquent of roast duck and green peas. To Mrs. Waddington, who had not broken bread since lunch-time, he seemed the most repellant object on which she had ever gazed.
"I trust you have had a good dinner," she said icily.