"Mrs. Stapleton isn't dressed yet, sir; but Mr. Gastrell can see you, I expect. What name shall I say?"
I was shown into a small morning room, and there I waited for, I suppose, five minutes. At last I heard footsteps approaching, and in a moment Gastrell entered.
"Dear me, this is a surprise," he exclaimed cordially, extending his hand. "I didn't know I had given you this address. Well, and what can I do for you?"
His tone, as he said this, was rather that of a patron addressing an inferior, but I pretended not to notice it, and, drawing upon my imagination, answered:
"I don't think you did give me this address; it was somebody elseI forget whowho mentioned it to me the other day in course of conversation. Really I have come to see Mrs. Stapleton and inquire for Miss Challoner."
"Miss Challoner? Do you mean Miss Dulcie Challoner, Sir Roland's daughter?"
"Yes."
An extremely puzzled look came into his eyes, though this he was probably not aware of.
"But what makes you think Miss Challoner is here?" he inquired quickly.
"She spent the night here with Mrs. Stapleton."