“Send one of the grooms to him on horseback; I am in a hurry. The courier is to come here without fail to-morrow morning—in time for the tidal train to Paris. You understand?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“What have you got there? Anything for me?”
“For Miss Roseberry, my lady.”
As he answered, the man handed the card and the open letter to Mercy.
“The lady is waiting in the morning-room, miss. She wished me to say she has time to spare, and she will wait for you if you are not ready yet.”
Having delivered his message in those terms, he withdrew.
Mercy read the name on the card. The matron had arrived! She looked at the letter next. It appeared to be a printed circular, with some lines in pencil added on the empty page. Printed lines and written lines swam before her eyes. She felt, rather than saw, Lady Janet’s attention steadily and suspiciously fixed on her. With the matron’s arrival the foredoomed end of the flimsy false pretenses and the cruel delays had come.
“A friend of yours, my dear?”
“Yes, Lady Janet.”