"
Then he directed the cabman to drive to Thistle Grove, Brompton.
"Is Mrs. Wilders visible yet?" he asked the servant, on reaching her
house.
"Madame does not receive so early," replied the man, a foreigner,
speaking broken English, who was new to the establishment, and had
never seen Mr. Hobson before.
"Take in my name!" said Mr. Hobson, peremptorily. "It is urgent, say.
I must see her at once."
"I will tell madame's maid."
"Do so, and look sharp about it. Don't trouble about me--be off and
tell the maid. I know my way;" and Mr. Hobson marched himself into the
morning-room.
This room, in the forenoon, was on the shady side of the house--it
looked on to a pretty garden, a small, level lawn of intensely green
grass, jewelled with flowers. The windows, reaching to the ground,
were wide open, and near one was drawn a small round table, on which
was set a dainty breakfast-service of pink-and-white china, glistening
plate, and crimson roses, standing out in pleasant relief upon the
snowy damask.
"Beyond question, madame has a knack of making herself comfortable. I
have seldom seen a cosier retreat on a broiling summer's day, and in
this dusty, dirty town. She has not breakfasted yet, nor, except for
my cup of coffee, have I. I will do myself the pleasure of joining
her.
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