“Good day, Murgatroyd. Is her Ladyship at home?”
“Yes, Sir Seymour.”
He stepped into the hall, left his hat, coat and stick, and prepared to go upstairs.
“Anyone with her Ladyship?”
“No, Sir Seymour. Her Ladyship is alone.”
A moment later Murgatroyd opened the drawing-room door and made the familiar announcement:
“Sir Seymour Portman!”
Adela was as usual on the sofa by the tea-table, near to the fireplace in which ship logs were blazing. She got up to greet him, and looked at him eagerly, almost anxiously.
“I was hoping you would come. Has anything happened?”
“Yes, a great deal,” he said, as he took her hand.