aring her
readiness to do all and anything that the most diligent friendship could
prompt. Should she meet her dear Julie at the station in London? Should
she bring any special carriage? Should she order any special dinner in
Bolton Street? She herself would of course come to Bolton Street, if not
allowed to be present at the station. It was still chilly in the
evenings, and she would have fires lit. Might she suggest a roast fowl
and some bread sauce, and perhaps a sweetbread--and just one glass of
champagne? And might she share the banquet? There was not a word in the
note about the too obtrusive brother, either as to the offence committed
by him, or the offence felt by him.

The little Franco-Polish woman was there in Bolton Street, of
course--for Lady Ongar had not dared to refuse her. A little, dry,
bright woman she was, with quick eyes, and thin lips, and small nose,
and mean forehead, and scanty hair drawn back quite tightly from her
face and head; very dry, but still almost pretty with her quickness and
her brightness. She was fifty, was Sophie Gordeloup, but she had so
managed her years that she was as active on her limbs as most women are
at twenty-five. And the chicken and the bread sauce, and the sweetbread,
and the champagne were there, all very good of their kind; for Sophie
Gordeloup liked such things to be good, and knew how to indulge her own
appetite, and to coax that, of another person.

Some little satisfaction Lady Ongar received from the fact that she was
not alone; but the satisfaction was not satisfactory. When Sophie had
left her at ten o'clock, running off by herself to her lodgings in Mount
Street, Lady Ongar, after but one moment's thought, sat down and wrote,
a note to Harry Clavering.

"DEAR HARRY--I am back in town. Pray come and see me to-morrow
evening.

"Yours ever,

"J. O."

Chapter XIV

Count Pateroff

After an interval of some weeks, during which Harry had been down at
Clavering and had returned again to his work at the Adelphi, Count
Pateroff called again in Bloomsbury Square; but Harry was at Mr.
Beilby's office. Harry at once returned the count's visit at the address
given in Mount Street. Madame was at home, said the servant-girl, from
which Harry was led to suppose that the count was a married man; but
Harry felt that he had no right to intrude upon madame, so he simply
left his card. Wishing, however, really to have this interview, and
havi