That she could disturb her father was, of course, out of the question, and with some misgivings she decided that it would be best to accompany her mysterious visitor without further delay.
“I will be with you in a few moments,” she said, and passed out of the room to put on her outdoor things.
When she returned she found Madame already on her feet, as though anxious to depart—and anxious to depart she was.
From the beginning Mme. Estelle had cherished no liking for her mission, and the sight of Kathleen's pale and troubled beauty had unnerved her not a little. The place oppressed her.
She admitted to herself that her notions were entirely fanciful, but still the whole atmosphere of the rather sombre and old-fashioned drawing-room seemed charged with tragedy.
Kathleen preceded her visitor down the stairs, and then they entered the car. It was the Premier's official attendant who opened and shut the door of the motor for them. The chauffeur was apparently busy with the machinery, his head inside the bonnet.
Whatever small trouble the man was encountering with the engines was of short duration, for Kathleen had scarcely settled herself in her seat before the car began to move.
As the big motor car swung round into Whitehall a second car entered Downing Street and had to draw up short in order to avoid a collision. Kathleen, thinking that an accident was unavoidable, leant forward and looked out of the window, and, to her astonishment, she discerned the face of Westerham in the other car.
She drew back again with an exclamation, and though she set it down as imagination at the time, she had no doubt afterwards that as a matter of fact Mme. Estelle had become deathly pale.