Lady Hartledon followed in an impulse of curiosity. She looked after him
over the balustrades, and saw him turn into the library below. Hedges was
standing near the drawing-room door.
"Does any one want Lord Hartledon?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know, my lady. Some gentleman."
She ran lightly down the stairs, pausing at the foot, as if ashamed of
her persistent curiosity. The well-lighted hall was before her; the
dining-room on one side; the library and a small room communicating on
the other. Throwing back her head, as in defiance, she boldly crossed the
hall and opened the library door.
Now what Lady Hartledon had really thought was that the visitor was Mr.
Carr; her husband was going to steal a quiet half-hour with him; and
Hedges was in the plot. She had not lived with Hartledon the best part
of a year without learning that Hedges was devoted heart and soul to his
master.
She opened the library-door. Her husband's back was towards her; and
facing him, his arms raised as if in anger or remonstrance, was the same
stranger who had caused some commotion in the other house. She knew him
in a moment: there he was, with his staid face, his black clothes, and
his white neckcloth, looking so like a clergyman. Lord Hartledon turned
his head.
"I am engaged, Maude; you can't come in," he peremptorily said; and
closed the door upon her.
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