"Dear sir,
"Your most obedient, humble servant,
"J. NORTHEY."
"A d----d cold-blooded fish!" Sir Hervey muttered when he had finished, and he cast the letter on the table with a gesture of disgust. Then he sat motionless for several minutes, gazing at nothing, with a strange expression of pain in his eyes. Perhaps he was thinking of the old mansion in Sussex, standing silent and lonely in its widespread park, awaiting--still awaiting, a mistress. Perhaps of plans late made, soon wrecked, yet no less cherished. Perhaps of a pale young face wide-browed and wilful, with eyes more swift to blame than praise; eyes which he had seen seeking--seeking pathetically they knew not what. Or perhaps he was thinking of the notorious Lady Vane--of what she had been once, of what Sophia might be some day. For he swore softly, and the look of pain deepened in his eyes. And then Watkyns returned.
Sir Hervey stood up. "You'll go to Wollenhope's," he said without preface. "Wollenhope's, in Davies Street, and learn--you'll know how--whether the young lady who alighted there last night from a chair or coach is still there. And whether a person of the name of Hawkesworth is there. And whether he is at home. You will not tell my name. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've half an hour."
The man slid out of the room, his face wearing a look of relief, almost of elation. It was true then. He was forgiven!
After that Coke walked up and down, his watch in his hand, until the valet returned. In the interval he spoke once only. "She is but a child!" he muttered, "she's but a child!" and he followed it with a second oath. When his man returned, "Well?" he said, without looking round.
"The young lady is not there, sir," Watkyns replied. "She arrived at eight last evening in a chair, and left a little after nine with a young gentleman."