The maid came forward respectfully, but without enthusiasm.

"Her ladyship has not been here to-day, madam. Can I attend to you, madam, until your maid arrives?"

Clodagh stood very still. She was conscious of a horrible, inordinate disappointment; but aware that the servant's eyes were still upon her, she rallied her self-control.

"Thanks!" she said. "I shan't want anything but a cup of tea. Bring me some tea to my own room. Did Lady Frances Hope leave no message?"

"No message, madam."

The maid hesitated for an instant longer; then, feeling herself dismissed, moved noiselessly away to the servant's quarters.

Left alone, Clodagh stood irresolute. This was her home! Her eyes wandered round the hall, from the walls of which the pictures of the former tenant looked down as though they criticised the intruder. This was her home coming! A home coming devoid of one friendly hand, one welcoming word! Unable to quell the pa.s.sion of loneliness that swelled within her, she turned blindly and opened the door that stood nearest to her.

It was the dining-room that she had chanced upon--a charming white-panelled room, furnished with Sheraton furniture. But in her present mood, its graceful severity failed to please her; to her lonely gaze it had an uninhabited look--it seemed almost to resemble a very perfect room upon the stage. Drawing back hastily, she closed the door; and, moving down the hall, entered another room.

This proved to be her own bedroom--a bright, high-ceiled apartment decorated and furnished in old French fashion and possessing two large windows, looking upon Hyde Park. But here again she was confronted by the sensation of unfamiliarity. And as she paused just inside the door, looking from the long windows to the stately bed, she was suddenly and completely dominated by her feelings. In a tempestuous wave of emotion, her hunger for happiness rose menacingly, while the tide of her philosophy suddenly ebbed. In that moment, as she stood alone in the wide room, she swayed between trust in her own heart and faith in the world's healing power. Then, as so frequently happens, the world s.n.a.t.c.hed the laurels before they had been held out.

With the same unmoved demeanour, the maid who had admitted her, appeared at the door.

"If you please, madam, the housemaid tells me that her ladyship _did_ send a note for you this morning. You'll find it on the dressing-table."

At the woman's words, Clodagh started, and her whole face coloured and changed. Hurrying across the room, she saw the letter, picked it up, and tore it open.

"DEAREST CLODAGH," she read.

"I must seem a perfect beast. But my old Aunt Deborah--with whom I can't afford to quarrel!--has announced her stupid intention of spending a day in town. And of course it must be this day of all days! _Do_ be a darling and show you forgive me by coming round to dine at eight-thirty. Lord Deerehurst returned yesterday from the famous two months' rest-cure, looking younger than ever. He and Val will be here to-night. Bridge after dinner. Don't fail to come.

"Yours,

"F. H."

As Clodagh read the last line of the letter, she lifted her head, and turned with a quick gesture to the maid who was waiting by the door.

"I want a fire lighted here and my tea brought to me immediately it is ready," she cried in a changed voice. "And send my maid in directly she arrives. I'm dining out!"

Without waiting for a reply, she crossed the room and paused beside one of the windows, looking down upon the park. Her spirits had risen; her excitement had been rekindled; she had been saved from the companionship she had learned to dread--companionship with herself.

CHAPTER IV

Lady Frances Hope's house was situated in Curzon Street; and thither Clodagh departed shortly after eight o'clock.

Again she chose a hansom as a means of conveyance, for as yet there had been no question of her procuring a carriage of her own; and again she became conscious of the peculiar stimulus, the peculiar power that the great tide of London life exercises upon its observers. The last glimmering of daylight was lingering in the sky as the cab pa.s.sed up Knightsbridge, but already the houses and hotels were brilliantly lighted, and the stream of diners and theatre-goers was forming into its nightly procession.

During that short drive, she encountered many glances--glances of interest, criticism or curiosity from women well-dressed as herself and bound upon some such mission as her own--glances of sharp speculation or sudden admiration from men driving, west or southward. And something of London's immensity, something of London's secrecy, came to her in those brief moments; she was stirred by the fact that has moved many another dweller in the vast city--the fact that every day, every night, some thousands of lives brush our own in a pa.s.sing glance, in a stray word, in a chance touch, and then drift on into mystery, never to reappear.

Her thoughts were confused and excited as she descended from the cab and entered the Curzon Street house; but on the moment that she stepped into the hall, her dreams were banished. A door on her right opened, and her hostess hurried forward and kissed her effusively.

"You dear thing!" she cried. "Wasn't it abominable of me? Was the arrival desperately weary? Come up to my bedroom. The men haven't come yet. What ages it seems since we said good-bye at Nice! How are you?"

She talked in her masterful voice, without waiting for a reply, until they entered the bedroom. There her maid, who was busying herself at the dressing-table, came forward to a.s.sist Clodagh; but Lady Frances checked her at once.

"Mrs. Milbanke won't need you, Rees. I'll take off her cloak."

Rees moved obediently towards the door; but there she ventured to pause for a moment.

"I hope you had a comfortable journey, madam," she said.

Clodagh, invariably gracious to her inferiors, turned to her warmly.

"Thank you, Rees! An excellent journey! But I'm glad to see everybody look so well." She added the last with a little smile, to which the maid responded as she closed the door.

Lady Frances laughed.

"You have bewitched Rees!" she said. "But you do that as you eat or sleep--by instinct. Let me look at you!" She laid her hands on Clodagh's shoulders and turned her towards the light.

"You've been playing every night since I left you," she said with decision.

Clodagh laughed with some constraint.

"And losing?"

Clodagh flushed.

"I have no luck," she said shortly. Then, almost at once, she turned away, freeing herself from her companion's detaining hands.

"Lady Frances," she said in a different tone, "please don't think I forget about--about----" she hesitated. "I get my first allowance at the beginning of July, you know----"

She paused; and Lady Frances gave a seemingly careless laugh. "My good child, don't speak of it! Any time!--any time!"

"You are very kind. I had hoped to settle up on my return, but the last week was shocking. But everything will be right at the beginning of July. She walked over to the dressing-table and looked at herself in the long gla.s.s.

"What a sweet house you have!" she said suddenly in an entirely different voice.

Lady Frances had been watching her with a close scrutiny; but now, with a good deal of ready dissimulation, she threw off her attentive manner and answered in Clodagh's own light tone.

"Yes; it is a nice little place. But what about the flat? Isn't that perfect?"

"Yes."

"You are not enthusiastic? Oh, I _am_ disappointed!"

Clodagh turned from the mirror.

"Forgive me!" she said impulsively. "Of course the flat is perfectly sweet--and exactly what I want. It was just the arriving alone that made it seem a little--a little----"

"Of course!--of course! Poor dear child! But wait!--wait till you begin to know people!"