“No, no. I shall take a hansom, and will go directly to the office of the Bugle, for Mr. Hardwick will be there by this time.”
“But we can drive you there.”
“No, please.”
She held out her hand to Sir James and said, with the least bit of hesitation before uttering the last word, “Good night—uncle.”
“Good night, my dear,” said the old man, “and God bless you,” he added with a tenderness which his appearance, so solemn and stately, left one unprepared for.
Lord Donal saw his betrothed into a hansom, protesting all the while at thus having to allow her to go off unprotected.
“What an old darling he is,” murmured Jennie, ignoring his protests. “I think if Mr. Hardwick had allowed me to look after the interests of the paper at the Foreign Office, Sir James would not have snubbed me.”
“If the Foreign Office dared to do such a thing, it would hear of something not to its advantage from the Diplomatic Service; and so, goodnight, my dear.” And, with additions, the nephew repeated the benediction of the uncle.
Jennie drove directly to the office of the Daily Bugle, and, for the last time, mounting the stairs, entered the editorial rooms. She found Mr. Hardwick at his desk, and he sprang up quickly on seeing who his visitor was. “Ah, you have returned,” he cried. “You didn’t telegraph to me, so I suppose that means failure.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Hardwick. It all depends on whether or not your object was exactly what you told me it was.”