church bells were long ago silent—she noticed coming towards her, with a sauntering step, an old gentleman in frock coat and silk hat of a slightly antique appearance, spatted and gloved, carrying his hands behind his back, as if he were waiting to be joined by some friend from one of the houses. She noticed that he looked at her through his glasses, but thought no more of it till she turned up the steps of her own house. Then she was startled by the sound of quick footsteps and a voice.
“I beg your pardon, madam …”
She turned, with her key in the door, and there he stood, hat in hand.
“Have I the pleasure of speaking to Lady Laura Bethell?”
There was a pleasant brisk ring about his voice that inclined her rather favorably towards him.
“Is there anything. … Did you want to speak to me? … Yes, I am Lady Laura Bethell.”
“I was told you were at church, madam, and that you were not at home to visitors on Sunday.”
“That is quite right. … May I ask … ?”
“Only a few minutes, Lady Laura, I promise you. Will you forgive my persistence?”
(Yes; the man was a gentleman; there was no doubt of that.)
“Would not tomorrow do? I am rather engaged today.”
He had his card-case ready, and without answering her at once, he came up the steps and handed it to her.
The name meant nothing at all to her.