Lady Drewitt's mansion had been thrown open by the watchful Payne, he gave the taxi-driver the address, lifted his hat, and walked slowly up the steps.
"Her ladyship at home, Payne?" he enquired in a voice that convinced the butler he was unwell.
"I'll enquire, sir," said Payne, and he disappeared in the direction of the morning-room.
A minute later Beresford was apologising to Lady Drewitt for so early a call.
"Sit down, Richard," she commanded. She was always at her best in the morning-room, Beresford thought, sitting upright in her chair like an Assyrian goddess, an expression on her face as implacable as that of Destiny. "What is it?" she demanded.
"Personally I think it's a dream," he said as he took the chair on which Lady Drewitt had fixed her eyes.
"What is the matter with you, Richard?" To Lady Drewitt, all deviations from the normal were suggestive of illness.
Suddenly some spirit of mischief took possession of him.
"Well, Aunt Caroline," he began hesitatingly, "I'm afraid I've got myself into"
"What have you been doing?" There was both anxiety and asperity in Lady Drewitt's tone.
"Well, it's rather serious," he began; "I'm afraid you'll"
"What—have—you—been—doing?" demanded
