CHAPTER XXIII
Montague had taken a couple of days to think over Lucy's last request. It was a difficult commission; but he made up his mind at last that he would make the attempt. He went up to Ryder's home and presented his card.
“Mr. Ryder is very much occupied, sir—” began the butler, apologetically.
“This is important,” said Montague. “Take him the card, please.” He waited in the palatial entrance-hall, decorated with ceilings which had been imported intact from old Italian palaces.
At last the butler returned. “Mr. Ryder says will you please see him upstairs, sir?”
Montague entered the elevator, and was taken to Ryder's private apartments. In the midst of the drawing-room was a great library table, covered with a mass of papers; and in a chair in front of it sat Ryder.
Montague had never seen such dreadful suffering upon a human countenance. The exquisite man of fashion had grown old in a week.
“Mr. Ryder,” he began, when they were alone, “I received a letter from Mrs. Taylor, asking me to come to see you.”
“I know,” said Ryder. “It was like her; and it is very good of you.”