and the whole atmosphere sickened her. She longed to get away, to feel
the fresh air upon her cheek; and in her anxiety to depart she took no
particular trouble to make sure that her companion was following her.
There was a hasty crushing on all sides of her, and as she was carried
forward she became conscious that she was alone, that she was being
stared at and commented upon by some of those who were about her. She
ought not to be there, she felt it rather than knew it, and was
painfully aware that people were judging her accordingly. One man spoke
to her, and in her effort to escape his attentions she contrived to
thrust herself into a corner of an outer lobby, and waited.

"Can I be of service?"

For a moment she thought that the man she had escaped from had found
her, and she turned indignantly. The steady grey eyes that met hers were
eyes to trust--she felt that at once. This was quite a different person.
He was young, with a face grave beyond his years, and a sense of
strength about him likely to appeal to a woman.

"I am waiting for my aunt, Lady Bolsover," she said, the colour mounting
to her cheeks under his steady gaze, and then, suddenly anxious that he
should not think evil of her, she added: "I did not want to come. It was
horrible."

"Your aunt must have missed you," he said, glancing round the almost
empty lobby, for the crowd had poured out into the street by this time.
"If you have a coach waiting, may I take you to it?"

"Oh, please--do."