hotel. However, her pearls at least were incomparable. She clasped the string round her neck, pulled on a pair of silk mittens over her hands, and sat down to wait for Peregrine.
They dined at six, which seemed a very late hour to Judith, but which Peregrine, who had been in conversation with some of the other guests while she was unpacking and had contrived to glean a quantity of odd information, assured her was not late at all, but on the contrary, unfashionably early.
Peregrine was agog with excitement, his blue eyes sparkling, and all his doldrums vanished. He wanted to be up and doing, and tried to coax Judith into going with him to the play after dinner. She refused it, but urged him to go without her, not to be thinking himself tied to her apron strings. For herself, she was very tired, and would go to bed at the earliest opportunity.
He went, and she did not see him again until next morning, when they met at the breakfast-table. He had been to Covent Garden, to see Kemble; he had kept the playbill for her; he was devilish sorry she had not been there, for she would have liked it of all things. Such a great theatre, with he knew not how many boxes, all hung with curtains, and supported on pillars, and the roomiest pit! He dared not say how many candles there were: everything was a blaze of light; and as for the company, why, he had never seen so many dressed-up people in his life; no, nor half so many quizzes neither!
She listened to it all, and asked him a dozen questions. He could not tell her very much about the play; he had been too much taken up with watching all the fashionables. He thought it had been Othello ,or some such thing. He was nearly sure it was Othello ,now he came to think of it; famous stuff, but he had enjoyed the farce more. And now what were they to do? For his part he thought they had best call on Lord Worth, and get it done with.
She agreed to it, and went up to her room after breakfast to put on her hat and her gloves. She hoped Lord Worth would not be angry with them for having come to London against his advice, but now that she was so near to seeing him in person she owned to a slight feeling of nervousness. But Peregrine was right: nothing could be done until they had presented themselves to their guardian.
Since neither she nor Peregrine had the least notion where Cavendish Square was to be found, and since neither of them cared to betray their ignorance by inquiring the way, Peregrine called up one of the hackneys with which the streets seemed to abound and gave the coachman the direction.
Cavendish Square was soon reached, and the hackney, drawing up before a great stucco-fronted house with an imposing portico, Peregrine handed his sister down, paid off the coachman, and said stoutly: “Well, he can’t eat us, Ju, after all.”
“No,” said Miss Taverner. “No, of course not. Oh Perry, wait! Do not knock! There is a straw in your shoe; you must have picked it up off the floor of that horrid carriage.”
“Lord, what a lucky chance that you saw it!” said Peregrine, removing the straw, and giving a final twitch to the lapels of his coat. “Now for it, Ju!” He raised his hand to the knocker, and beat a mild tattoo on the door.
“They will never hear that!” said his sister scornfully. “If you are afraid I certainly am not!” She stepped forward and grasping the knocker firmly, beat an imperious summons with it.
In the middle of this operation the door opened, rather to Miss Taverner’s discomfiture. A very large footman confronted them, inclining his head slightly to learn their business.
Miss Taverner, recovering her composure, inquired if Lord Worth were at home, and upon being asked civilly for her name, replied grandly: “Be good enough to inform his lordship, if you please, that Sir Peregrine and Miss Taverner are here.”
The footman bowed, as though he were much impressed by this speech, and held the door wide for them to pass through into the house.
They dined at six, which seemed a very late hour to Judith, but which Peregrine, who had been in conversation with some of the other guests while she was unpacking and had contrived to glean a quantity of odd information, assured her was not late at all, but on the contrary, unfashionably early.
Peregrine was agog with excitement, his blue eyes sparkling, and all his doldrums vanished. He wanted to be up and doing, and tried to coax Judith into going with him to the play after dinner. She refused it, but urged him to go without her, not to be thinking himself tied to her apron strings. For herself, she was very tired, and would go to bed at the earliest opportunity.
He went, and she did not see him again until next morning, when they met at the breakfast-table. He had been to Covent Garden, to see Kemble; he had kept the playbill for her; he was devilish sorry she had not been there, for she would have liked it of all things. Such a great theatre, with he knew not how many boxes, all hung with curtains, and supported on pillars, and the roomiest pit! He dared not say how many candles there were: everything was a blaze of light; and as for the company, why, he had never seen so many dressed-up people in his life; no, nor half so many quizzes neither!
She listened to it all, and asked him a dozen questions. He could not tell her very much about the play; he had been too much taken up with watching all the fashionables. He thought it had been Othello ,or some such thing. He was nearly sure it was Othello ,now he came to think of it; famous stuff, but he had enjoyed the farce more. And now what were they to do? For his part he thought they had best call on Lord Worth, and get it done with.
She agreed to it, and went up to her room after breakfast to put on her hat and her gloves. She hoped Lord Worth would not be angry with them for having come to London against his advice, but now that she was so near to seeing him in person she owned to a slight feeling of nervousness. But Peregrine was right: nothing could be done until they had presented themselves to their guardian.
Since neither she nor Peregrine had the least notion where Cavendish Square was to be found, and since neither of them cared to betray their ignorance by inquiring the way, Peregrine called up one of the hackneys with which the streets seemed to abound and gave the coachman the direction.
Cavendish Square was soon reached, and the hackney, drawing up before a great stucco-fronted house with an imposing portico, Peregrine handed his sister down, paid off the coachman, and said stoutly: “Well, he can’t eat us, Ju, after all.”
“No,” said Miss Taverner. “No, of course not. Oh Perry, wait! Do not knock! There is a straw in your shoe; you must have picked it up off the floor of that horrid carriage.”
“Lord, what a lucky chance that you saw it!” said Peregrine, removing the straw, and giving a final twitch to the lapels of his coat. “Now for it, Ju!” He raised his hand to the knocker, and beat a mild tattoo on the door.
“They will never hear that!” said his sister scornfully. “If you are afraid I certainly am not!” She stepped forward and grasping the knocker firmly, beat an imperious summons with it.
In the middle of this operation the door opened, rather to Miss Taverner’s discomfiture. A very large footman confronted them, inclining his head slightly to learn their business.
Miss Taverner, recovering her composure, inquired if Lord Worth were at home, and upon being asked civilly for her name, replied grandly: “Be good enough to inform his lordship, if you please, that Sir Peregrine and Miss Taverner are here.”
The footman bowed, as though he were much impressed by this speech, and held the door wide for them to pass through into the house.
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