"Well, we'll soon settle that point, anyway," observed Colin.
He pulled up in front of an old-fashioned two-story house, which had evidently survived from the days when Shadwell was more or less a country village. It stood a little way back from the street behind some battered iron railings, a brass plate on the door and a red lamp over the side entrance affording sufficient indications of its owner's profession.
Colin advanced to the front door and rang the bell.
Its jangling had scarcely died away when there was a sound of footsteps inside, and the next moment a flood of light streamed out into the gloom.
A slim, sweet-faced woman, with beautiful but rather tired gray eyes, was standing on the mat.
As soon as she saw who it was her expression lit up in a smile of unaffected pleasure.
"Why, it's Colin!" she exclaimed. "How delightful! I thought it was someone cadging for subscriptions."
Colin shook his head. "It's not money we want, lady," he said, "it's tea." He pulled Nancy forward into the light. "By the way, let me introduce Miss Nancy Seymour. Nancy—Mary; Mary—Nancy."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I thought you were alone." She pressed Nancy's hand in a friendly welcome, and then, stepping back, shepherded them into the hall.
"Take Miss Seymour upstairs, Colin," she said. "You'll find Mark in the study. He's just finished work. You must excuse my deserting you for a moment. It's Martha Jane's day out, so I'm getting tea."