"Mr. Trevethlan's not at home," said the obstinate warder.
"Not at home, sir! What do you mean? Where is he?"
"He's not at home," Jeffrey repeated.
Mrs. Pendarrel mused for a moment.
"Miss Trevethlan is at home, I suppose?" she asked.
"Miss Trevethlan is not at home," was again the reply.
"This is insolence," the lady said. "Do you know, sir, who I am?"
"I think I know the Pendar'l liveries," answered Jeffrey.
"Home," said Mrs. Pendarrel to her servant. And the carriage rattled down the descent.
A young man was leaning on the gate of the base-court: as the chariot approached, he opened it, and stood cap in hand while the lady drove through. She pulled the check-string, and beckoned the stranger to the window.