Mr. Morris was at the door as she came up, and he now stood aside. He seemed doubtful.
“Mr. Torridon has gentlemen with him, madam.”
“Then I will wait,” said Beatrice serenely, and made a motion to come in. The servant still half-hesitating opened the door wider; and Beatrice and her maid went through into the little parlour on the right.
As she passed in she heard voices from the other door. Mr. Morris’s footsteps went down the passage.
She had not very long to wait. There was the sound of a carriage driving up to the door presently, and her maid who sat in view of the window glanced out. Her face grew solemn.
“It is Master Cromwell’s carriage,” she said.
Beatrice was conscious of a vague discomfort; Master Cromwell, in spite of her efforts, was the shadowed side of Ralph’s life.
“Is he coming in?” she said.
The maid peeped again.
“No, madam.”