But it is a long lane that has no turning, and at length the hansom drew
up before a little cottage far back from the road. A long porch of
lattice-work led up to the front door, and tall elm trees shaded the
little garden. It was a pleasant enough little abode on the outside at
any rate, sheltered from the noise and bustle of the great city.

"No. 17, The Grove, sir," called out the cabman, breathless, but
triumphant, "and it's only five minutes to six."

"Well done," said McAllister, "here's your well-earned sovereign. Now
take your horse to the stables over there and wait for me."

The cabman departed radiant, wondering over such unwonted generosity, and
musing as to the rank and wealth of his fare.

McAllister knocked at the door of the cottage, and presently it was
opened by a neat maid-servant, who, in answer to his inquiry, said:

"I am afraid, sir, Mademoiselle Laurentia will not be able to see you.
What name shall I say, please, sir?"

"Oh, say I'm a Canadian. I have no cards with me; but I have come on a
matter of the utmost importance, and I must see your mistress."

"Very well, sir; please walk up this way," and the maid led the way to
Mademoiselle Laurentia's boudoir.

It was a dainty little room furnished in blue and silver. On the walls
hung numerous water-colors and engravings, showing that the prima donna
had an artistic eye.