The masonry of the Hall rose up
above him like a precipice. He was searching for the bell-knob in the
face of the precipice when a lady suddenly appeared at the doors. At
first he thought it was the Countess, and that heart of his began to
slip down the inside of his legs. But it was not the Countess.
"Well?" demanded the lady. She was dressed in black.
"Can I see the Countess?" he inquired.
The lady stared at him. He handed her his professional card which lay
waiting all ready in his waistcoat pocket.
"I will ask my lady," said the lady in black.
Denry perceived from her accent that she was not English.
She disappeared through a swinging door; and then Denry most clearly
heard the Countess's own authentic voice saying in a pettish, disgusted
tone:
"Oh! Bother!"
And he was chilled. He seriously wished that he had never thought of
starting his confounded Universal Thrift Club.
After some time the carriage suddenly drove off, presumably to the
stables. As he was now within the hollow of the porch, a sort of cave at
the foot of the precipice, he could not see along the length of the
facade. Nobody came to him.
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